Blessed with a Curse
by hansprinsessa
Summary: In a Sookie-less universe, Eric and Pam deal with troublesome queens, witches, and...each other. A spin on the Dead to the World/Season 4 plotline. Mostly set in the TrueBlood realm, with book themes mixed in, so spoilers for...everything. Eric/Pam AU, perhaps OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is my first (longer than a one shot) fic. I need to get my OTP feelings out somehow, and this is what happened. It's an Eric/Pam AU, my spin on the Dead to the World/Season 4 plotline. It'll be mostly set in the TrueBlood realm, but I'll mix in bookie things too, so there may be spoilers for...anything.**

**I don't own 'em, but Pam holds my leash. Title is borrowed from the Bring Me The Horizon song of the same name.**

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**Chapter 1**

Some nights at Fangtasia suck, no pun intended. I've always hated puns even though they amuse my maker greatly. I mean, Fangtasia? Seriously? I assure you that name was slated prior to my arrival in the illustrious city of Shreveport, Louisiana. If I had my choice, we would have named this dive something frilly.

And we'd also have topless dancers.

But I digress. Some nights the vermin amused me enough to pass the time, but tonight...tonight I'm finding unbearably boring. I stand at the door, where I would be checking the incoming patron's identification cards, if any patrons were coming in.

Perhaps humans have more important shit to do on a Tuesday night, slaving away at their pathetic existences, leaving their walks on the wild side for the weekend. I glance around the club I half-own at the few herds of cattle parked here and there. Such ridiculous creatures they were, in their latex and vinyl clothes and heavy makeup. Sighing, I remember I, too, am dressed from head to hoof in vinyl and made up like a clown. Boss's orders.

Just as His Royal Highness crosses my mind, I feel a flash of irritation in my blood. I flick my gaze to its source, who is lounging like a great blonde cat across the preposterous throne that sits on the dais near the dance floor. He catches my gaze and narrows his eyes at me, as if it's somehow my fault that the middle-aged, balding bloodbag currently fawning at his feet has the gall to be reaching out to touch him. Crossing my arms across my chest, I smirk at him, making a show of kicking back and leaning against the door frame, ready to watch whatever sort of amusing events are about to unfold. At a speed a human couldn't follow, he flips me the bird, then turns to look at the groveling man whose fingers are about to make contact with the hem of his designer jeans. I stand there stone-faced even though inside I'm jumping up and down with glee. I live for this shit. Well, I mean...you know.

My maker suddenly rises to his full height, his 6'4" frame towering over the fangbanger at his feet. He swiftly bends down, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt, and then straightens, holding the man easily out in front of him like he's caught a stray cat by the scruff of it's neck. I can smell the ugly little man's fear from across the room...and it smells fucking horrible. Like sweat and desperation and knock-off cologne.

Eric is snarling in the little man's face, fangs down, when I sense someone behind me. Whirling around, I come face to face with none other than the Queen of Louisiana.

Sophie-Anne Leclerq is an old vampire; not ancient like my master mind you, but still a force to be reckoned with. Like the majority of our kind, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair an unnatural shade of red, her skin is flawless, of course, but it's obvious it was during her human life, too. Shorter than I am (which isn't as short as usual tonight thanks to my sky-high stilettos) she has to look up to catch my eye. If she wanted to catch my eye, that is. Right now, her leer is aimed directly at my breasts.

Now, let us get one thing straight. Typically, I bat for the same team. In fact, Sophie-Anne and I have spent more than a few nights together over the years, but those days are fucking through, and she knows it.

There are few things in this world I care about. Very few. In fact, most of the things I give a shit about were purchased on Eric's Platinum Visa and reside in my many walk-in closets. Yes, I generally only allow myself have feelings about absurdly expensive, inanimate objects.

But the one exception to that rule stands on the dais beside that throne I threaten to smash into kindling nightly, smelly human still dangling helplessly from his hand, currently assaulting me with a variety of Viking-sized emotions. A little shock at first. Then irritation. Then a fury so white-hot it threatens to burn from the inside out. And somewhere in there, although he'd be loath to admit it, is a tiny bit of fear.

Poor forgotten Mr. Pitstains, who Eric is still holding easily from one extended arm, begins to flail his chubby little limbs feebly. Eric only then seems to remember he's even there. Sneering at him, he tosses him to the side carelessly, sending him crashing into one of the high top bar tables. I signal to Jessica, our new bartender, and at vampspeed she hops the bar, throws Stinky over her shoulder and zipping away with him.

In the meantime, Sophie-Anne's bodyguards have filed into the club behind her, and quicker than even I can follow Eric has materialized before us. Dwarfing everyone else in the room, he comes to stand at my side. I can feel the tension radiating off of him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes glowing with hatred, and I can tell he's working harder than hell to keep his fangs where they belong.

Yes, my royal former lover has fucked with my Master. And as far as I'm concerned, that shit don't fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter 2, yay. ****I don't own 'em, but Pam owns me.**

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**Chapter 2**

An hour later, an extremely peeved looking Queen and a disheveled looking Viking emerged from the office.

I had closed the club not long after Sophie-Anne arrived with her entourage. I watched as she gave Eric a death glare before gathering that ridiculous fur coat around her (I know you're a vampire, Sweetie, but this is freaking Louisiana) and storming out of Fangtasia like a petulant child. I turn to my maker, who was absolutely fuming.

Honestly, even though he lacks the equipment I desire these days (or just has a different set of tools, I guess you could say), Eric takes my breath away when he's angry. So foreboding with his massive frame unconsciously in an attack stance, a thousand years worth of power coiled up tightly like a spring inside him. His short blonde hair is a mess, his jacket askew and his shirt ripped and bloody...wait, hold the fucking phone.

I cock my head to the side, taking him in. "Did you just get sexually assaulted, Master? Do you want to talk about it?"

He glares at me, furious, and bellows, "Fuck right off, Pamela." With that outburst he spins and starts to walk back to his office, and I'm right on his heels like a yappy dog.

"I'm not certain, but I'm thinking Dear Abby once said there's a hotline you can call if you've been the victim of sexual abuse, Eric. I wouldn't know," I say, grinning at the back of his golden head, "I'm typically the one doing the sexual abusing."

We're crossing the threshold of the office when he whirls on me, fangs snapping down with a decisive click. "I'm about to be abusing your face if you don't shut your cocksucker."

I roll my eyes. He hates that shit.

"This mouth has way better things to do with it's time than suck cock, my darling maker."

Even though he's still all butthurt from whatever happened with the Queen, he gifts me with a rare, true, absolutely devastating smile. Despite the fact he's still brandishing his massive fangs, his smile reaches his eyes for once. I wonder how many beings have even witnessed the wonder that is Eric Northman smiling. Perhaps only me. Maybe Godric, too, although I don't think of my grand-sire is the smiling type.

And I can't help but smile back. Quickly his face darkens again, and he plops rather unceremoniously into his desk chair. I perch on the corner of the desk, looking down at him. He sighs, and buries his face in his hands. Reaching over, I use my fingers to slick his wild hair back where it belongs. I can't help it, stuff like that drives me batshit.

"Motherfucker," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. Suddenly, he sits upright. "We need to talk."

Removing my hand, I sit back and wait a beat for him to begin but he just sits there, eyes focused on the hideous gothic choker at my neck instead of my face. I arch an eyebrow.

"Use your words, Eric."

Oh, fangs are back. Okay. Tone it down, Pam.

Suddenly he stands, practically knocking me off the desk in the process. He slams his laptop closed and shoves it at me.

When he speaks his voice is low, so low only a vampire can hear. "Not here. One of my homes. We will go to ground there." With that, he swiftly walks to the door, holding it open while looking at me expectantly. Me being me, I open my mouth to argue, and he cocks one golden eyebrow at me.

_Say something, you fucking brat. You know you want to._

It's ridiculous really, these silent conversations we have. Some vampires, Queen Firecrotch for example, have the ability to telepathically communicate with her progenies. It's freaking bizarre to be around, let me tell you. But what Eric and I have isn't telepathy, it's more of an acquired skill...one born from spending entirely too much goddamn time around each other.

I've spent the majority of the last 160 or so years (neither of us can really remember anymore) of my life at Eric's side. He released me long ago, and sure, I've left a few times to go my own way, but I always ended up coming back like a Pam boomerang. Not because I had to, or because he commanded me to. We've always been in the minority in the vampire world in that most makers and their children don't...well, like each other. In fact, many seem to loathe each other.

Eric and I have always enjoyed each other's company. He was always forthcoming that his reason for turning me was his desire for a companion. It was intensely sexual between us at first, but those days were long over. Now it was just us, breaking up the monotony night after night. Sure, I was purposefully a pain in his ass, but I made up for it by doing everything for him, and happily so. It was just...comforting to both of us not to walk this earth alone.

Needless to say after all this time, words weren't always necessary. Words were also not necessary with obscene hand gestures, which was exactly what he got from me as I ducked under his arm to exit the office. When he bared his fangs at me this time, I reached up and flicked one as hard as I could. I laughed out loud at the shock on his face.

Still snickering, I walked out the back door of the club. Eric came out behind me, locking the deadbolts on the door. I watched him as I followed him to the car, marveling at how he slinks through the night like a cat. Pulling the open the door, I slide into the passenger side of his gaudy red corvette and together we drive off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow, dudes. Thanks for the reviews and kind words, I'm blown away and...apparently a bit of an attention whore. Here is Chapter 3, it's a little short but I promise the next one is longer.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but Pam keeps my ass in check.**

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**Chapter 3**

Soon we were seated in the living area of one of Eric's many safehouses in the Shreveport area, two untouched glasses of warmed Royalty Blended sitting on the coffee table between us.

When we arrived, Eric insisted he needed a scalding hot shower, muttering something about soaking himself in bleach. In the meantime I wandered back to my bedroom to change. Eric has always made sure I have a room at each of his homes in case I need to go to ground there, and of course I was more than happy to decorate each one and fill the closets on his dime. The thought makes me smile, my favorite pastime is blowing through his money.

Peeling off my vinyl skirt and corset I slip into a bright pink velvety track suit. I yank out the pins holding my hair up and wipe away all the eye makeup I had caked on for my shift at Fangtasia.

Looking in the mirror, I almost sigh in relief. I hate the way I dress for work, I know it's good for business and all but this...this is more like it. Wrapped in couture, light makeup, hair down. I like pretty colors, not garish blacks and reds. I enjoy our club, but I'm always glad to get out of my "uniform."

Shaking my head, I grab a hair band and head towards the living room, gathering my long blonde hair back in a ponytail as I pad barefoot down the hall. When I reach the room, Eric looks up at me from the couch. Fresh from his shower, his hair is still dripping and he's clad in those Calvin Klein lounge pants I bought him a few months ago.

I drop down on the love seat and level my gaze at him.

"So."

"So." He crosses his arms in front of him, mimicking me. A thousand year old vampire is fucking mimicking me. And he calls _me_ a brat.

I huff and uncross my arms, and he does the same. "Yes, so. Please, Daddy, tell me a story. The one about how you spent an hour locked in the office with the evil redheaded witch doing God knows what, since you came out looking like you'd been pillaged."

He smirks. "Hey, I do the pillaging."

"Yes, obviously." I roll my eyes. "And don't forget the part where to 'talk' we have to leave _our_ club, because it's apparently not safe to talk there, and come out here to the middle of fucking nowhere. Oh, and let's also not forget I have to wait for you to take the longest shower in history first." I pull my legs up under me and rest my chin on my fist. "Yes, this should be a good one."

Eric was smiling during my rant, but his face darkens.

"Well for starters, my office is bugged. Has been for quite a while, apparently."

I laugh. "Great. So Sophie-Anne has had a front row seat to the Eric Northman feeding and fucking show for a while. Lucky girl. So what?"

"So what, Pamela? You can't be _that_ dense. _So what_ is she's heard every bit of business that's gone on in there for the past few years. She knows about some business ventures _you_ don't even know about. That was the purpose of the visit. She wishes for me to increase my monthly payments to the crown." He laughs bitterly.

"Fuck her. She knows you're ten times the vampire she is, she can't force you to do anything."

"Yes, well, that leads into the next problematic thing she overheard. Something I've worked hard to keep under wraps." He arches his eyebrow in my direction, and here we go again with the silent conversation.

_Godric,_ that stupid fucking eyebrow of his tells me. _She knows about Godric._

__**A/N: Whaaa? Godric?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: You guys continue to give me lots of feelings with your reviews. Ready for a bit of a change, and perhaps some answers?**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but Pam's made me her bitch.**

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**Chapter 4**

I could see the understanding filter quickly across my progeny's face.

There are a multitude of reasons why Godric and I have chosen to keep our relationship a secret over the past few centuries, many of which Pam, my closest and really only confidant, doesn't even know about. But the main reason was to keep Godric or myself from becoming vampire royalty, something neither of us had ever desired.

I never willingly left my maker's side. Sometimes I wonder if it's our bloodline or if it's just our carefully chosen progenies that makes us so unique in the vampire world. No, Godric sent me away for a reason, and I haven't seen him since, although we do keep in touch regularly. (Regularly to a millenniums-old vampire, that is. I somehow doubt a human would consider once every few decades "keeping in touch.")

No, vampires in the Old World didn't seem to like having two vampires such as Godric and myself together and…friendly. Godric stopped counting his age somewhere after 2,500 years old, and at the time I was growing close to my 1000th year as vampire. Our bloodline, Godric always told me, was born of greatness I couldn't possibly imagine. To this day he has never told me who his sire, my grand-sire, was. Or is, if he or she has not yet met the final death. Whenever I would ask him, he would just respond, "All men have their secrets," in that soft, sing-song voice of his.

Anyway, the European vampire hierarchy felt we were much too powerful together. And we were. Together my maker and I could have done anything we set our minds to. With more than three thousand years between two vampires who trusted each other implicitly, we could have _been_ the European vampire hierarchy. But, neither of us ever had any interest in ruling, either there or in the New World.

So, much to my dismay at the time, Godric ordered me away from his side. Together, we were targets. The quiet, peaceful existence we were seeking was not a possibility; there would always be those afraid of our power, seeking to take it away from us if we remained together. I had been with Godric almost constantly for over eight hundred years. He had released me over five hundred years before, but we had no desire to part. If I was ever going to admit to having a…feeling, it would be in regards to this. Without my sire, I felt lost.

I wandered the continent aimlessly for a time before coming across a lovely and rather mischievous young woman in Victorian-era England, turning her the very night I first laid eyes on her. I felt an unexplainable pull towards her I couldn't ignore. I was alone in a strange place, fighting starvation, avoiding humans who smelled revolting and wielded pitchforks. I was desperate for companionship and desperately..._bored._ I missed having someone to talk to, lame as that sounds. Pamela is like a bolt of lightning in the dark. The female version of me: snarky, rude, bitchy, and brave to a fault. And here she sits now, almost two centuries later, swathed in an obnoxious shade of pink from head to toe in my living room, ready to take on a vampire queen for me if I only ask it of her. It pains me that my sire and progeny have never met, he would find her most amusing, I think. Just as I do.

I smile stupidly at her, cocking my head to the side to take her in. She's a strikingly beautiful woman, even dressed in a glorified (read: absurdly expensive) sweatsuit. Her blonde hair, slightly lighter than my own, is pulled back in a ponytail that is lying over her shoulder exposing her long, elegant neck, and all the makeup she wears on nights she's at Fangtasia has been wiped away, leaving her big blue eyes to speak for themselves. I look down to her bare feet which are on my six thousand dollar couch for some fucking reason, and muse that it's strange to see her without her signature pumps on that cost as much as my Corvette. She's spoiled, yes, but that's entirely my fault. She works hard, though, and would pick out my underwear for me if I let her.

We don't spend many evenings together like this anymore. Between our work at Fangtasia and my work as Sheriff of Area 5, she has her own things to do and I have mine, but although I'd never admit it, it's nice having her here with me even if the situation isn't the best.

Apparently I've been looking at her strangely for too long because she's got her eyebrow arched comically high. She got that from me, and it makes me smile wider against my will.

"A cheeky grin does not suit you, Master." She's smiling too, though.

"Right, well, allow me to scowl." I do, and she snorts.

"So, Her Majesty now knows our…lineage, I presume."

I sober immediately. "Indeed, Pam. Indeed. Sophie-Anne knows, of course, that I am much older and more powerful than she, but we've been able to maintain a delicate balance between us. She knows I do not desire to take Louisiana, and that if I were to change my mind that I would need the Authority at my back to take the crown from her. Obviously she knows who Godric is, knows that he too is but a Sheriff when he could easily take Texas, but if she has deduced that he's my maker…well, she's going to be nervous."

"And with good reason," my child interjects, continuing my thought process. "If you decided to take Louisiana with Godric at your side, there would be nothing she could do to stop you. I'd be quaking in my stilettos, too, if I were her. And that's assuming she _doesn't _know of Godric's ties to The Authority."

"If Sophie-Anne knew, she would have tried to kill me tonight while she had me alone."

"She didn't?"

"No."

"And so you looked like you had been in a fight with a bear…why?"

I shot her a look. "_That_ story begins with the original problem. Sophie-Anne's far too involved in my financial matters thanks to the microphone that's in the office. That would be bad enough usually, but she made it clear tonight the great state of Louisiana is in financial ruin. She came to me tonight to demand I increase my tributes." A slow smile crosses my face. "I refused, of course."

Pam cocked her head at me. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is. That's where things got…interesting."

"I know I said tell me a story, Eric, but fucking spit it out."

"Okay, oh impatient one. First, our illustrious Queen informed me that per her orders, I am to start distributing vampire blood."

Pam's jaw drops in astonishment. "That's an abomination," she whispers. "The blood is sacred, you taught me that."

I nod. "It is. But in her own words, 'Hell hath no fury like a vampire queen broke.'"

"That one's always had a way with words, hasn't she?"

I smirk. "Among other things. So, she expects me to increase my tributes to her, even though it's my personal investments in question, not area investments. And she expects me to become a fucking V-dealer, all proceeds going directly to her, of course."

Pam rolls her eyes. "Of course, and you, as well as me probably, will meet the true death if you get caught, while she is free to continue doing…whatever the fuck it is she does all night."

"Right. Apparently, the only way she can get the state out of the predicament she's put it in is to marry another state. Mississippi, for example, has shown some interest."

"Russell?" Pam laughs out loud, a rare sound. "Russell Edgington is showing interest in marrying a woman. Right. And I'll be going out for brunch in the morning."

I can't help but laugh. "You know Russell is mated to his progeny, Pam. No, he wants to marry her to join their kingdoms. But Sophie-Anne knows as soon as it's official, he'll probably have her killed. She doesn't want to marry him anyway, of course. In fact, she told me her plan was to take me as her husband instead."

If I had been losing Pam's attention with my little tale, I had it now. Her blue eyes flashed with anger. "And how did you respond to this?"

"I respectfully declined." That was, of course, complete bullshit.

"That's complete bullshit." We spend too much goddamn time together.

"I told her I had no desire to be king, much less _her _king."

Pam snorts incredulously. "Ignorant ginger cow. Does she think marrying you will get Godric on her side? Or stop you from taking her kingdom? Not likely." My child's fangs drop with a snick. "God, Eric, I fucking hate her. I've had quite a few prime opportunities to deliver her true death, too. I should have staked her ass."

I smile affectionately at my child. "Treason, Pamela dear." Pam waves me off, gesturing for me to continue my tale. "Then, she decided to pull rank and order me to marry her. I laughed _that _off,since we both know better, and so she said she'd be willing to bargain for the extra royalties. I stupidly asked her what she could possibly have to bargain with and," I shudder involuntarily, "well, she tried to rape me."

I'm sure Godric could hear Pam's booming laugh all the way in Texas. I sat, blank-faced, while she giggled for what seemed like a fucking eternity.

Pam was wiping bloody tears away, trying to get ahold of herself. "So that explains the recent-bear-attack look you were sporting. And the Clorox bath."

I nod. "She wasn't wearing anything under that ridiculous fur coat. She threw it off and jumped me. I think my cock crawled up inside me and died. When I pushed her off of me and told her I wasn't interested, she snapped. She attacked me, tried to tear my fucking throat out. Started spouting off all sorts of nonsense about how, one way or another, she would own me, all of me, and that everything I own would belong to her."

Pam looks like she's on the verge of killing someone, but I guess that's no different than usual. She's silent for a long moment before she bites out, "She fucking bit you?" In a blink she's on her knees before me where I sit on the sofa, turning my head from side to side with her tiny hands, inspecting my neck like a mark would still be there. Silly girl. Rocking back to sit on her feet she looks up at me. "You didn't fight back, Eric?"

Looking down at my child, I smirk. "And face the true death from one of her goons or The Authority? Not tonight. Have I taught you nothing, my air-headed progeny?" She fixes me with her death glare, which only makes me smile more. I reach forward and tuck a lock of hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear, trailing my fingertips from her ear down her jawline. Her head tilts automatically with my touch, exposing more of her neck. A vampire on her knees, baring her neck to her master is the upmost sign of submission. I've never desired submission from Pam. I grasp her chin, straightening her neck.

"We need a need a plan first. But not tonight. It's past dawn." I stand in one fluid motion, looming over Pam's tiny form at my feet. She takes my offered hand and when I pull her up we're face to face. A trickle of blood is running from her nose, the bleeds already beginning. I swipe it away with my thumb, then lean in and kiss her forehead lightly. "Go, rest. I'll talk to Rasul tomorrow night and see of he can be our eyes and ears in the palace. You will go to ground for the day here again, so we can discuss our game plan before dawn tomorrow night."

Releasing her, I watch as she sashays down the hallway to her room. Feeling the pull of the dawn myself, I walk to my room, strip off my clothing, and plop facedown on my king-sized bed, my mind whirling until the moment my death takes me.

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**A/N: So, Eric POV? Is it OK that I don't announce a POV change? I think you dudes are smart enough to figure it out. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here is Chapter 5. Shit's about to get real. **

**Whatchu say about our Eric/Pam flashbacks last night, dearest readers? I was glad I was home alone so nobody heard the inhuman wailing sounds I was making. But, I digress. Enjoy.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but Pam in period costume owns every bit of me.**

**Chapter 5**

When the sun dips below the horizon, I'm alive again. Or, well. Undead again.

I don't open my eyes right away, breathing in deeply. I smell Eric everywhere, but then again, I'm at his house. Consulting our blood bond, I know he's close. Like creeper, I-like-to-watch-you-sleep close. I feel the bed indent beside me, so I reluctantly open my eyes.

Eric is sitting beside me, his back against the headboard, holding a Trueblood out in my direction. I sit up, scooting back against the headboard myself, taking the proffered vile substance from his hand. I take a gulp, grimacing, looking my maker over. He's shirtless and his hair is a mess, indicating he's been running his hands through it (probably in frustration) since we vampires don't really get bedhead. It's comical how much his hair makes him look like a giant manchild when it's messily hanging in his eyes this way. Cocking my head to the side a bit, I can see where he's tried and failed to clean blood away that had dripped from his ear, leaving a smear on his jawline. He didn't get enough rest and had given himself the bleeds.

My lips turn up into a little smirk. "Well, you look like shit. I should purchase you one of those delightful coffee mugs that the humans use, what do they say?" I tap my chin while he glares at me. "Oh, yes. 'I'm not a morning person.' All the fangbangers have them, you know, staying up all night, blah blah. Can I borrow your credit card?"

Eric snorts incredulously. "I never look like shit, and you know it."

I frown; I hate it when he's right. I reach out my hand to fix his hair, and he obediently lowers his head so I can reach. Using my fingernails I comb his blonde locks back into place. Didn't I just do this? Satisfied, I pat his cheek. "You were up early today."

He nods. "I can't rest when I have things to plan, you know that."

I nod back at him, downing the remainder of the Trueblood then sitting it on the bedside table. I swing my legs off the side of the bed, sliding my feet into my pink high-heeled marabou feather slippers. I get up and walk to the bathroom, wet a wash cloth, then carry it back to the bedroom. On my way to the closet, I stop at the end of the bed and fling it at Eric, who catches it just in front of his face with vampire speed.

"What's this for?"

I pull the short, blush colored chiffon nightgown I'm wearing over my head and toss it on the bed and walk to my walk-in closet. I can feel Eric's eyes burning into me as I disappear through the door.

"Your ears," I call from inside the closet as I rifle through my clothes.

"I...huh? My what?" he replies stupidly.

"Your ears, Eric. You were bleeding." Finally grabbing a form fitting black dress out of the closet with a high collar and an obscenely low neckline, I walk back in the room where Eric still sits, watching my every move like a hawk. "Are you going to share whatever grand scheme you dreamed up today instead of resting?"

He's blatantly staring at my breasts now and not listening to me. I cover myself with the dress and snap my fingers. "Hey, big guy. Tell Pam the plan."

Shaking humself, he rises from the bed and in a blur he's stalking past me, pausing at the door. "Get ready. You can take my car. I'm going to fly to Fangtasia, Jason texted during the day today to say I had a meeting at first dark."

"You're late."

"I am Sheriff," he says with that irritating cocky smirk. "I make my own schedule."

Before I can open my mouth to respond, he's gone.

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As I pull up in Eric's Corvette at Fangtasia, I immediately know something is wrong.

The parking lot looks like a ghost town, not a single person in line. I step from my Master's car, trying to retain some of my vampiric gracefulness while climbing from the low-to-the-ground vehicle in my favorite stiletto Louboutins. Quickly crossing to the back door of Fangtasia, I am stopped in my tracks by a smell I wasn't expecting, especially not here.

_Magic._

Throwing the door open and walking into the darkened back hallway, I realize the magic I sensed must be some sort of ward. That would explain the way humans are seemingly repelled. It would also explain why I can just now feel the searing rage from coming from my maker, hitting me so suddenly and with such force it almost drops me to my knees.

I glide into his office with a calm expression that belies the panic I feel. As I enter the room, I take in the scene before me.

Eric has a guest. One look at her and I know she's the source of the magic I sensed when I entered the club. From all outward appearances she looks harmless. She's the epitome of mousy with her shoulder length, unstyled hair and shapeless, beige dress.

The fashion disaster's back is turned to me. Eric is seated in his chair behind his desk, his position relaxed but the tension is rolling off of him in waves. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning. When I enter the room, his glare swings to me.

Standing swiftly, he rounds the desk and stalks across the room to where I stand in the threshold of his office. Grabbing my arm in his large hand roughly, he pushes me back out the door into the small hallway in the rear of Fangtasia, quickly following me out and slamming the door behind us.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he hisses under his breath.

I can only imagine the expression on my face. "Oh, I dunno. I work here. I own half of this godforsaken hole in the wall. And then there's the whole, 'I'm going to fly to Fangtasia, you take my car...'"

Eric interrupts me with a stern, "Pamela." Spoken in an ice cold, soft but deadly sharp tone, it's so much more than my name. It's a command. A command to shut the fuck up. I can feel my mouth slam shut against my will.

Still holding onto my upper arm, he roughly backs me into the wall in the hallway. Leaning in close, his lips against my ear, he starts speaking rapidly to me in Swedish.

"I've been trying to warn you through the bond not to come. Something is amiss. The appointment Jason made for sundown was with that fucking witch, the idiot. I'm going to drain him. She's...making demands."

Since he hasn't released me from his shut-the-eff-up command, all I can do is arch a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. Not that he can see it anyway with his face practically buried in my hair.

He continues, speaking in his mother tongue, his cool breath fanning against my neck. "Someone sent her. She says I am to give her half of everything, or she will curse Fangtasia. Make the drinks bad, make the vermin stay away, make them sue us."

He leans back to look at me, and I find I can speak again.

I hiss, "I couldn't feel you at all until I walked in the building, Eric. She fucked with our bond somehow. Let me in there. I'll rip her fucking throat out with one fang. Hideous creature, she deserves to die for that abomination of a dress she's wearing."

Eric regards me strangely for a long moment, the look on his face...proud, maybe? He's a weird one. He seems to shake himself, releasing his vice-like grip on my arm, then looks back towards the closed door of his office.

"Not yet, Pam. Come."

He grabs my wrist and pulls me back into the room. The witch has taken a seat on the black leather couch, her hands crossed demurely in her lap. When she speaks, I see her squeaky voice matches her mousy appearance.

"Ah, this must be your business partner Pamela. Ravenscroft, right? I am Hallow Stonebrook, it's a pleasure." She actually has the gall to extend her hand to me as if to shake mine. I look at it in disgust, and taking the hint she returns the offending extremity back to her lap.

Turning to Eric, who is leaning against his desk, she seemingly picks up where she left off prior to my arrival.

"Now, Mr. Northman, I want to assure you if giving up half of your business proceeds is...unpalatable to you, there are other options."

"Unpalatable?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes, Ms. Ravenscroft." Turning back to Eric, she continues, "I have been visiting all the other supernatural-owned businesses in the area making the same demands I've made of you, half of your business. However, my employer has made it clear she wishes to offer you an alternative, Sheriff Northman."

Eric arches a brow. "And that would be?"

Hallow smiles. This bitch smiling is creepy as shit.

"Ah, it's most interesting. Rather than taking half your business, she's willing to only take a fifth of it." She purses her lips slightly, as if she doesn't approve of this concession her _employer_ is willing to make.

"In return for what?"

Creepy grin is back. "A week of your time, Mr. Northman. Seven nights. She wishes for you to...entertain her."

I've had enough. "Fuck you and your employer, Hermione." My fangs slam down as I take a step toward her, snarling, but Eric grabs my waist with both hands, dragging me back to his side. I turn to glare at him as he speaks to the witch.

"Clarify," he barks at her, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

For some reason, when she answers him, she speaks directly to me, a small smile playing on her lips.

"My employer will require Eric service her sexually for seven nights." Turning her gaze back to my maker, she continues. "She'll keep you restrained with silver. And a condition of the contract, of course, is she can do anything she wants with you. _Anything._" Her smirk breaks into a smile more malevolent than even _I_ am capable of, before she continues. "I understand my employer has very...particular tastes."

And that's all she wrote. I snap. Remember what I said before? Fucking with my maker doesn't fly with Pammykins.

I remember as a baby vampire how my emotions would completely overtake me. Rage would cloud all of my senses, and I would both figuratively and literally see red. Blood was all I wanted to see and taste and smell and feel.

Wrenching myself free from my maker's grasp, I launch myself at Sabrina the middle-aged witch.

Before she can even blink I have a fistful of her drab brown hair in my hand, which I twist with unnecessary force to expose her neck to me. I slam my fangs into the witch's jugular without preamble, planning to drain her dry and make it hurt.

In my lust for blood I don't hear her begin to chant. I don't hear my maker's panicked shout.

I don't hear anything. Because one minute I was there, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of the witches blood, feeling her life flow out of her as I drained her body, and the next minute...

Everything went black.

**A/N: Gah, working on the next chapter. It's a doozy. Also, Jason is Eric's dayman, because I love Jason and I said so. U mad?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm too excited to get this out to even make witty comments, kbye.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but I'd do just about anything for them to own me.**

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**Chapter 6**

When it happened I felt like I had been staked.

My child, my progeny, my companion, my best friend, my bolt of lightning in the dark, my everything...she's gone, in a puff of smoke like some bad goddamn magic trick. If I could I would lie to myself, tell myself this was all some elaborate hoax, because she was just...gone. Where did she go?

But I felt our bond break.

The blood tie we formed the night she always said I saved her in every way almost two centuries prior, that we shared every moment that we were alive after dark whether we wanted to or not, was severed in an instant. One moment I was feeling her blood lust, rage, and overprotectiveness of me rushing through my body like a freight train, the next there was absolute nothingness like I had never experienced in the well over one thousand years I had been wandering the earth. It left me feeling like a cannon blast had left a black hole in my chest.

I realize I am on my knees on the floor of my office next to the spot my child had last stood. Tears are running freely down my face as I struggle to focus my vision on the bloody mess of a witch in front of me. I gather myself enough to sense the witch is dead, apparently able to finish chanting some fucking spell to bring the true death upon my Pamela somehow before she succumbed to her own.

_My Pamela. _

Roaring, I grab the witch by her leg and begin tearing her limb from limb, ripping her to shreds in my rage and grief. I punish my office, breaking everything I can get my hands on. As I pick up the couch with all intentions to break it over my knee I see something glint amongst the blood and gore that remains from the witch.

Dropping the couch I bend down to pick up the object that dared to interrupt me, bringing it up to my face to examine it. It's a ring, meant for a dainty, slim finger. A perfect pink star sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds on a white gold band, currently covered in the witch's foul smelling blood.

I sink to the floor amongst the mess that remains of the human woman and my office's contents, clutching the tiny object to me. I wanted Pamela to have only the best, knew she deserved only the best, which is why I always gave her a hard time about wearing the relatively inexpensive pink sapphire ring all the time when I had personally bought her some of the most high-quality jewelry ever made. She had baubles worn by princesses and fashion designers and the Hollywood starlets of old.

But when I would say something about it, one corner of her mouth would quirk up as she'd explain that on nights at Fangtasia, when I forced her to dress up like Lydia Deets from Beetlejuice, the pink jewel reminded her of her true self. That underneath the garish, stereotypical vampire garb was my Pam, likely dressed in something frilly, in some shade of pink I've never fucking heard of.

I sit there on the floor for a moment, numb from the shock and the throbbing pain in my chest where our bond had been severed, staring at the ring I hold between my fingertips. Although I can hardly bear it, I wonder, did she know how much I adored her? How proud she made me? Did I ever even tell her? I know she could feel me through our blood tie, I know I showered her with money and gifts to show her, but I don't know if I ever said the words.

I clinch the ring in my fist before standing quickly. There are matters I must see to. Untying the leather cord of the talisman I always wear, I slip my child's ring onto it and tie it back around my neck, tucking it under my t-shirt. I find my phone, which somehow managed to survive me in wrecking-ball mode. I open the phone, then freeze.

I realize for the first time in centuries, I have no fucking clue what to do next.

I always know what to do. Everyone looks to me for answers. I was always the one barking out orders, delegating things to Pam and...

Fuck.

I run a hand through my hair. The numbness is beginning to wear off, a crippling grief setting in. I've got to get out of here. I glance at the time on my phone and see that even though this seems like the longest night of my existence already, it's hardly been an hour since I arrived here for the appointment with the witch that should have never been...

Well, I knew where to start now, at least. Leaning up against the wall, I punch the second speed dial on my phone.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Stack-" My voice breaks. I swallow, running a hand down my face, and begin again, my voice coming out as a hiss this time. "Stackhouse. I need...come to Fangtasia, right away."

I hang up, not giving the mouthbreathing human a chance to respond. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor again, my finger tracing the outline of her ring through my shirt. Moments later, I hear Jason Stackhouse knocking on the closed door of my office.

"Enter."

He opens the door and slides inside, shutting it behind him. In his late twenties, Jason was a fine specimen as far as human men go, but his brain left a lot to be desired. He, simply speaking, was an idiot. But as stupid as he was, he had good common sense, and was fiercely loyal, which made him a good day man for me.

He stops and surveys the damage to my office, his eye finally landing on me, taking in what I'm sure is my extremely disheveled appearance. Normally I would never allow anyone to see me in this state, with my cheeks stained from my tears, especially not a human, but tonight I can't bring myself to care. At the moment I can't imagine caring about anything ever again.

I speak lowly, talking to the toes of my boots.

"It's taking a thousand years worth of acquired control have not to slaughter you and leave you here with the remains of that witch that is scattered about the room."

Jason's eyes widen. "Witch? Like, Glenda? Witch's exist?"

I raise my eyes to his, giving him a death glare that makes his mouth slam shut. He knows I don't like him questioning me.

I rise to my feet, "Get a cleaning crew in here. I need every trace of what happened in here tonight gone."

Jason nods, licking his lips. He starts to work his cellphone out of the pocket of his too-tight jeans.

"Miss Pam off tonight?"

I screw my eyes shut as the simpleton's question sends me reeling, that black hole in my unbeating heart making itself known. And for the first time in my long existence, I wonder if I should even continue to carry on. A thousand years is long enough, right?

Two bloody tears escape from my eyes, as Jason's own widen again in surprise, I'm sure. The idiot takes two steps in my direction, a distinct look on his face like he's planning to bro-hug me, and I lose my cool.

Grabbing him by his neck, I slam him into the wall so hard plaster rains down on us as I hold him up at my eye level, his feet dangling helplessly a foot off the floor.

My fangs are down as I snarl in his face. "You did this to her! You made that appointment with that fucking witch, Stackhouse. You should have never made the appointment without checking her out first! That's your fucking job! _How could you fail me?_" I bellow loud enough to make the walls shake. Still holding him by his neck I fling him into the opposite wall. I watch, feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction as he crumples to the ground, seemingly unfazed by my random act of violence. He does make a good day man.

"Boss," Jason whispers from the floor, voice hoarse from being recently choked, "Boss, where's Miss Pam?" Jason Stackhouse has always had a thing for my progeny, following her around like a sad puppy most evenings until I sent him elsewhere.

"Gone." It's all I can think to say, and that one word come out more strangled than any other I've ever uttered. Jason is looking at me with his normal level of confusion written across his face, but I do not clarify. It won't matter anyway if I slaughter him and his entire family for what he has let happen like I want to do right now.

"Take care of this mess, and then take the necessary steps to close the club for a few days. I've...," I trail off, again feeling the hopelessness set in. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him? That I've already contemplated meeting the sun in the morning? "I've got to go, Jason."

"Sure thing, Boss." He nods, obviously surprised by me calling him by his first name.

With that I walk from my office and slide into my Corvette. Not knowing where else to go, I decide to go to the home where Pamela and I spent our last night together, and drive off into the night.

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**A/N: Is it normal to uglycry while writing fanfiction? I can't deal. Don't be mad at me, y'all. Just hang on tight, we're going for a ride. Not long now until the next chapter, mmkay?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: No witty words. I don't own Eric and Pam, but Eric owns me this chapter, gah.**

**Chapter 7**

Pulling into the garage of the safehouse and cutting the engine, I sit for a long moment, trying to decide what to do. In the end, though, my feet decide for me, carrying me without any conscious thought to the bedroom my child last slept in.

I can smell her all through my house, but her scent assaults me when I cross the threshold to her room. I stand frozen in the doorway, staring at the horrendously pink room, feeling myself free-falling into despair.

She can't be gone. She was just here. She's _still_ everywhere.

I walk to the end of the bed and tentatively reach out to touch the flouncy pink nightgown she stripped off in front of me earlier in the evening. Gods, had I have known that was our last moments together, the things I would have said and done could fill volumes.

But we were never meant to have a last night together. We were entitled to an eternity.

My fingers touch the sheer fabric as my mind remembers how beautiful she looked in it, and how, as always, she enchanted me when she took it off.

I kick off my boots and pull my t-shirt over my head. Turning back to her nightgown I gather it up in my arms like it's a living thing and crawl into her bed, not caring that there is still gore from the witch on my jeans. I turn on my side with my head on her pillow, pressing my face into the chiffon dress, inhaling as deeply as my lungs can take, over and over.

Here, in my progeny's obnoxious pink bed, surrounded by the sent of her perfume and bath products, and the scent of her blood, _my_ blood, I finally let go.

I lay right there for hours, a thousand year old Viking vampire, reduced to being wrapped up in a pink comforter. Pamela's nightdress is ruined from my tears. I've been grieving, thinking, planning. The witch's employer...of course the culprit is Sophie-Anne. Who else made it abundantly clear recently that they wanted to take all my money, have their way with me, and that everything I own would...

A growl rumbles through my chest as I throw the blankets off of me with excessive force. I don't have terribly long until sunrise, but I have enough time to do...something. Anything. I stand and pat down my pockets, looking for my phone. I need to call Jason. And if I am to go to war with the Queen of Louisiana tomorrow night, I need to call Godric. I need all the support I can get from the Authority as well. Where the fuck is my phone?

Realizing I probably left it in the car, I speed out to the garage. Sure enough, there it sits in the cup holder, right where I left it. I rub my chin as I scroll through my contact list, trying to decide who to call first. I punch the first number and hold the phone up to my ear. As it rings I walk out onto the driveway, thinking the fresh air might help me keep a level head through this even though I'd like to rip up and smash every tree that surrounds my safehouse.

Jason answers, finally. "Yeah, Boss."

"Did you take care of everything?"

"Yessir. Cleaning crew's come and gone, and I've got you new office furniture coming."

I've walked out to the middle of the yard. I tilt my head up to the sky while Jason talks, looking at the stars. I need to tell him about Pam, but I don't want to. Saying it out loud to anyone would make it a fact.

Jason always liked Pam. She always led him on, but being a bit of a man-whore himself, he was okay with that. He knew who and what my child was.

"Jason, you need to know what happened this evening," I stop, steeling myself to say the words out loud. The words that will change my existence forever. That Pamela is finally dead, and I feel like I might as well be too. I suck in an unneeded breath and open my mouth to speak...and that's when I smell it. Blood. _Human _blood.

And not just any human blood. It's blood I've only smelled one time, and that was almost two centuries ago. But as soon as the scent hits my nose, I recognize it instantly.

Immediately my eyes are searching for the source. I can hear Stackhouse's tiny voice coming from the phone from where I've lowered it to my side. Returning it to my ear, I mutter, "I'll call you back, Jason." I barely have time to get my phone in my pocket before a flash of blonde in the woodline catches my eye. I use every bit of my vampire speed to rush to what _has_ to be the product of an overactive imagination in the bushes.

In a flash I am before her. And it's her, alright.

She's completely nude, her hair wilder than I've ever seen it, and she has a shellshocked, vacant look in her blue eyes I've never seen before. She clutches a tree trunk with one hand as if she would collapse if she let go. She's covered in blood and dirty and here and in one piece...

...and human. Pam is human.

I can smell the blood in her veins, recognize it as the blood I gorged myself on the night I turned her. I can hear the beating heart in her chest drumming away, her ragged breaths, smell her human tears, her crippling, paralyzing fear.

I'm only about five feet away from her and her eyes have yet to focus on me. I take another step forward, petrified. Is this some kind of joke? Is my mind just fucking with me? I have to touch her, hold her, I need to know.

When I am before my child, I stop, unsure of what's going on. She's staring straight through me, as if I'm not standing practically on top of her. She sucks in a shuddering breath then begins to whisper, as if in a trance.

_I followed my heart here. My heart brought me here._

The smell of her blood and the thought of getting my hands on her after thinking she was out of my reach forever causes my fangs to drop with a loud click. Tentatively I reach out my hand, my fingertips just barely grazing the line of her jaw. She doesn't stop her whispered chatter so I gently grasp her chin and turn her face upwards, and she raises her baby blues to mine painfully slowly. When her eyes meet mine, for a split second, a look of utter relief passes over her face.

In the next second, she's screaming bloody fucking murder.

**A/N: Well? A/U enough for ya? WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO MY PAMMYKINS? Hold me. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapter is short. And a little weird, considering. Sorry. I really wanted to see things from Pam's POV here, but a lot of this feels better, to me, coming from the Viking's POV. Just bear with me.**

**Eric and Pam. They're not mine. Sonbitch.**

**Chapter 8**

I don't know how long I had been walking once I escaped.

I don't know who I escaped from, or what they wanted with me.

I don't know how I came to be here.

How did I get here? _My heart brought me here. My heart brought me here._

I don't understand it, but I know it to be true.

I hurt all over. I'm cold. I'm hungry. My mind feels cloudy from the pain and...something else, something just outside my grasp at the moment. Why does everything feel so wrong? I feel something graze my chin, and struggle to focus my eyes.

_They hurt me,_ I think. _Whoever they are. I fought back. I got away. I came here, something brought me here._

I shake myself internally, trying to clear my vision. I realize I'm face to face with a bare chest splattered in blood. The chest is attached to a muscular arm, which is attached to a large hand, which is currently pulling my chin up, and up, and up...

In my addled state it takes me a split second to realize I've been captured again by...whoever had me, but yet, I don't feel any more afraid for some reason. He is terrifyingly large, blonde, and covered in blood from his face to his bare feet. Although a creeping fear is starting to clear my muddled mind, I can't help but stare into his fathomless blue eyes for a long moment but then, like a switch was flipped, I have sudden clarity and I can think again.

I see the man in front of me, and he is no man at all. He has fangs. He has blood all over his face. My fear and puzzlement give way to full blown terror.

_Fangs!_

My fight or flight response kicks in, and I know fighting this...this _creature_ is not an option. I start screaming and turn back towards the woods, running as fast as my feet will take me.

**A/N: Don't fret, my pets. More to come from EPOV, and soon.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Here we are. I don't own Eric and Pam but things are getting pretty serious between us, mmkay?**

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**Chapter 9**

I stand there dumfounded as I watch my child's blonde head retreating into the woods, still screaming like someone is killing her. After a moment I take off, catching her effortlessly and turning her around in my arms. She didn't get too far from the house in that time, so I know she can see me well enough in the glow of the security lights around the house, even with her poor human vision.

She's still screaming, and fighting like hell too. She's kicking me, punching my chest, fighting with all her strength. I hold onto her as tightly as I can, letting her abuse me, a smile quirking my lips.

"Pam!" I say, trying to get her to settle down. My safehouse was chosen because it was out in the middle of nowhere, but who knows how far her shrieks will carry. I shush her as she twists and fights in my grasp, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that she is completely naked and I'm halfway there. Now is _not_ the time, Eric.

"Pam. Pam. Pamela!" Certainly, at human strength, she'll calm down soon? Why won't she acknowledge me?

Finally she seems to accept I'm not letting her go and goes slack in my arms, slumping up against me. She's crying, wailing incoherently, as I suppose I would be too if I lost my vampirism. Her legs can't hold her up anymore so I gather her up, sinking us both down effortlessly to the forest floor, cradling her small body in my lap as it is wracked with sobs.

Her despair, coupled with my own swirling emotions, is unnerving me, so I do what I was created to do: I become completely in tune with the human body in my arms. I listen to the soft whooshing of her heart pumping her blood throughout her body, her harsh breathing, inhale the salty yet sweet scent of her tears and smell the crippling fear she is feeling. I unconsciously begin to stroke one large hand down her back in an attempt to comfort her, but also to reassure myself that she's here, that this isn't all some sort of fucked up illusion that is a part of the witch's spell.

I'm not sure how long we sat there like that, me holding her on the forest floor in some backwoods Louisiana swamp. Eventually, her sobs begin to calm into an occasional hiccup. Her cheek is pressed up against my sternum, my chest wet from her tears. As I continue to hold her close, stroking her back, muttering soothing words to her in both English and my mother tongue, I finally start to let my brain process the events of the evening. Pamela, my darling Pamela, was gone…dead before my eyes. I _saw_ it. I was sure, _so_ sure I would never see her again. And yet…here she is. Perhaps not in the form she would most prefer, but that was easily fixable, right?

Yes, I assure myself. I will turn her again as soon as possible. I would turn this woman every night for a thousand years if it meant I could keep her by my side.

I couldn't say how long it had been since I had last held her this way. Decades, probably. Pamela did not often seek comfort, probably because she had no reason to need it. It was such a strange sensation, considering that I could feel her all around me, but for the first time I couldn't feel her _within _me. My chest still stung sharply with the pain of our broken bond, but despite the emptiness I felt that told me my progeny was dead, gone, never to return…I was _surrounded_ by her. Her hair fluttering against my shoulder when she moved, the sweet scent of her soft skin that was different than before, but somehow still the same; her small body that fit so perfectly against mine because this woman, this tiny blonde spitfire who drives me absolutely batshit insane, was _home_ to me.

I can feel the moisture pricking at the corners of my eyes as the grief I've been feeling battles with the elation that's beginning to course through me. I lift my hand from her back and smooth her messy blonde locks away from her forehead and am rewarded with a sweet little sigh even as she still sniffles into my chest.

My brain pretty much shuts down for the second time that night as I slowly comb my fingers through her long hair, clutching her to me protectively. All the sorrow I felt earlier at the thought of never seeing her again was giving way to a need, a need that has not been satisfied in a long, long time, but that always stays there on the back burner.

It was on the back burner no more. Oh, no. After having been faced with what it was to lose her, to know I'd never hold her again? My fangs involuntarily slam down at the thought, surprising me. After a thousand years, I normally have complete control over them, but right now? I can't spare them a thought. All I can think about is that she's not finally dead, she's here with me where she belongs and she's so fucking _warm_…

I'm acting, really, without conscious thought when I bring my other hand up to grip her chin, pulling her face up to mine, as the hand that had been toying with her hair cradles the back of her head. I look into her huge blue eyes, so shiny with her tears they look like bottomless pools, reflecting my desire and more than a hint of confusion. Releasing her chin, I use my thumb to wipe her tears away. My unbeating heart is in my throat as I gaze down at her, she's breathtaking even with tears and makeup streaking her face. The face that I've been looking upon nightly for centuries, and had thought for a short time tonight thought I'd never have the chance to see again. My child, my chosen one…so beautiful, so _mine_.

I dip my head slowly, and just before I claim her lips with my own, I can't stop myself from reverently saying her name.

_Pamela._

Her eyes flash, and she shoves against me as hard as she can with her human strength. It surprises me enough that I release her. I watch as she scuttles back away from me on her hands and knees before coming to a stop about six feet away, sitting down in the dirt and pine needles.

I'm just about to open my mouth to comment on her uncharacteristic behavior (Pam? In the dirt voluntarily?) when she blurts out the question that turned my entire existence upside-down in an instant.

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

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**A/N: A review, perhaps?**


	10. Chapter 10

******A/N: Hello, lovers. Thank you all for the kind words. So, I could go on for days about this weeks episode of True Blood. I'm heartbroken. Alex and Kristin are flawless individuals. Lord. Okay. Chapter 10.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but I'm drowning in my Paric feels.**

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**Chapter 10**

I rub at my wet eyes, looking up at this creature towering over me as I crouch, naked and vulnerable, in the dirt and leaves on the forest floor. This creature that my instincts tell me I should be petrified of, who chased me down in the woods and held me captive in his abnormally strong grip, but yet…when I gave up, deciding that living wasn't worth the struggle, he held me while I cried and sobbed all over him. He tried to kiss me.

_I almost let him._

Clearing my throat, hoarse from all the screaming and crying, I look up at him rephrasing the question he still hasn't answered.

"Why do you call me Pamela?"

He looks puzzled. Something tells me this is a man that doesn't find himself puzzled very often. His gaze makes me more than just uncomfortable; between the blood streaking his face and chest, that feral look in his eye, and the fangs I can still see peeking out from his lips, he is _terrifying._

He takes a step towards me, and I scramble backwards. He stops, holding his hands up at me slightly, and opens his mouth to say something. What, I don't know, because I cut him off.

"Who are you? _What_ are you?" My voice breaks, a sob choking my throat. "Are you going to kill me?"

His eyes widen with every question, his expression unfathomable. He drops his hands down to his side, taking a step back, staring at me with eyes that have gone almost black with some sort of…emotion.

His voice, when it finally comes, is a lightly-accented whisper in the night. "You do not remember me?"

"Should I?"

He looks like I've slapped him. His jaw clenches and his eyes flash as he hisses one simple word, "Yes."

I've angered this beast. Perhaps he'll kill me now. I curl in on myself, resting my head on my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs. It's so cold, and I'm so tired, so sore. So _hopeless. _I close my eyes, wishing he would get it over with, but apparently this monster likes to play with his food.

I hear a twig break close by and roll my head on my knees to look up at him, but instead of looming tall above me, he's dropped to his knees in front of me. It seems like he doesn't know what to do with his hands for a moment before he finally rests them on his thighs. Resigned to my fate, I just return his stare as he studies my face.

Tired of the silence, I decide to break it. "Are you going to tell me what exactly you are? Or do I not get to know until you're actively killing me." Why am I being so rude to this man?

His brow wrinkles in concern. "I am not going to kill you." He makes a move as if to reach for me but I startle and he stops, looking crestfallen. "Stop saying that, Pam."

"Well, stop calling me that," I snap back childishly.

"It's your name. Pamela." He raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say "deal with it."

I shake my head, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes again, desperation and hopelessness and fear washing over me like a tidal wave. "I don't know that. I don't know you." My voice drops to a thin whisper as I continue, "I don't think know anything."

His features soften as he watches a few tears spill over and make their way down my cheeks. He shuffles forward on his knees slightly but doesn't reach for me again. His voice is soft and rough at the same time, and I find I'm comforted by it in spite of myself.

"You know me, Pamela. You may not remember me right now, but you most definitely know me."

"Your name?"

"Eric. Eric Northman."

I brace myself for a moment before asking, "And what are you?"

"Vampire."

His gruff, one word response echos in the night. I feel a chill run down my spine, and not from the cold. That explains the fangs. And the blood.

"Why are you covered in blood?"

He looks at me with an odd expression before looking down, seemingly realizing for the first time that his chest is splotched with blood. He looks back up at me and retracts his fangs.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he answers.

Oh, okay then. I have the urge to roll my eyes. He suddenly stands to his impressive height, extending a hand big enough to crush my whole head. "Come. I need to get you inside."

I respond with a shake of my head.

One corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "And if you don't go with me, where to you propose you will go?"

I understood his meaning. I don't know who I am, where I am or how I got here, I'm naked, dirty…

"I don't know you, Eric."

"Pamela," his tone brokers no argument. "I am not leaving you out here to freeze. Come inside, let me get you dressed and cleaned up. Then you can make a decision on what you would like to do."

This sounded fair enough.

Tentatively, I reach out to take his offered hand. He looks pleased with himself once I grasp his fingers, like he's accomplished something. Quicker than I can blink, he's hoisted me up off the ground and to my feet. The sudden movement makes my head spin, and I stumble backwards. Before I can fall, though, he grabs me around the waist, his other arm under my knees, and picks me up, cradling me to his chest. I shriek and push against him but he just grips me tighter.

"Relax, Pam. I've got you."

For some reason, his words ring true to me. Some part of me I can't quite tap into knows that he does, in fact, have me.

I relax into his large form, my head lolling over to rest on his muscled chest. I really am _so_ exhausted. He looks down at me and swallows thickly, giving me one more unfathomable glance, and then sets off at an ambling pace through the woods, back to the house.

About halfway there, my stomach growls loudly, causing him to look down at me with a bewildered expression.

I ask, "Do you have something to eat in your house?"

He snorts. "No. No food. Not now that you're human, anyway."

Oh. Well, certainly he knows I must eat. Like he said, I'm human.

"_Now that you're human."_

Suddenly it hits me like a ton of bricks, the heaviness of that statement.

What was I before, if not human?

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**A/N: Chapter 11 is almost done. Feed the review whore? **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Next chapter, folks. And it's my longest one yet. Thank you for the reviews I've received so long. Come, drown with me in the Paric feels.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but they own my heart, which is broken into a million pieces.**

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**Chapter 11**

As I'm walking back to the house with Pam in my arms, my head is spinning.

_She doesn't have a clue who I am. Who she is. What we are…were._

Her voice breaks me out of my contemplation, asking if there's anything to eat in the house. I answer her flippantly, my mind still racing from the nights revelations…_Pamela doesn't know who I am._

"What do you mean, now that I'm human, Eric?"

"Enough questions, Pam. Once you are settled, we shall speak."

She nodded slightly, biting her lip, and settled back against me. Clearing the treeline, I march across the yard, entering the dwelling through the open garage door. I glance down at Pam who is eyeing my Corvette with curiosity, but there is no recognition in her eyes. I manage to open the door without releasing her, kicking the door shut behind me. At this point she tries to disentangle herself from me, but I clutch her tighter, growling. I'm not ready to let her go yet. The face she makes when I growl is comical enough to shut me up.

Making quick work of the stairs, I take her through the master bedroom into the bathroom. Reluctantly, I sit her down on the marble ledge of the bathtub. I start the water, stopping to frown at my choice of bath…stuff. She would want something that smelled frilly. I turn to find her staring dejectedly at her knees.

I reach out, tipping her chin up with one finger. When she finally meets my eyes, I give her a small smile, and to my surprise, her face brightens, albeit slightly. I'm about as fucking thrilled as I've ever been, just because I'm allowed to touch her again, it seems.

Dropping my hand, I whisper, "I'll be right back."

She nods, and I turn on my heel and stride from the room, down the hall and to the room she claimed as her own. Ducking in her bathroom, I grab a few bottles of pink stuff and turn to head back. I'm looking down at the products in my hands as I come out of the bathroom when I barrel right into her, clad in my black robe, which is trailing along behind her like a train. That lost look is back on her face as she grabs my arms to steady herself.

"I…I didn't…" She lets go of me, taking a step back, gathering the robe tighter around her body. "I'm sorry I followed you."

I shake my head. "It's fine, Pam. You can go anywhere you want to go in this house." I gesture around me with the shampoo. "This is your room, as a matter of fact."

I watch as her eyes flick around the room, obviously not recognizing anything. They land on the bed at the same time mine do, taking in the crumpled sheets, the bloody pillow. She crosses the room, picking up the delicate negligée, holding it up by the straps. It is, like the pillow, streaked with blood from my tears. I can smell her fear spike as she spins to face me.

"Did you do this?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Yes."

She looks down at herself, and back up at me. "Did you do this to me?"

She might as well have staked me. How could she think I would be the one to have done this to her? My voice is choked as I reply, "No, Pam. I would never hurt you."

She regards me for a moment before looking back down at the nightgown in her hands, then meeting my eyes again, confusion written clearly across her face. "Who's blood?"

"Mine."

"What happened to you?"

I say the only thing I can think of at the moment, which is the absolute truth. "I got hurt."

She scrunches her nose at me before she tosses the garment back down on the bed. Holding out my hand to her, I smile inwardly as she takes it without missing a beat. I pull her back down the hallway, reaching the bathroom in time for me to add some bubbles to the water pouring into the tub. I sit down her soaps and shampoos on the ledge, and grab a stack of towels, sitting them close by. Turning off the water, I cross back to Pam, coming to stand before her. She's looking down at her toes again, her expression so unlike any I've ever seen on her in all the years I have known her. I cautiously reach out, fingering the end of a lock of hair that is trailing over her shoulder, the blonde contrasting with the black of my robe.

I speak to my fingers because I can't bear to see that look on her face for another second. "I'll be right outside if you need me." Flicking the curl back over her shoulder, I turn and walk back to the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. Planning to keep my promise of staying close by, I cross to my bed, sinking down with my elbows on my knees. I rub my eyes with my palms before resting my head in my hands.

_What the fuck._

With my supernatural senses, I can easily hear Pam's heartbeat, pinpoint her every movement. Right now she's still standing there, staring at the door I just walked out of. She must shake herself, because soon I hear the rustle of fabric as she pulls off my robe, tossing it to the floor. Then the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the tub and her skin and the popping of the tiny bubbles of the bubblebath are audible. I hear her groan softly, no doubt in relief from the warmth and comfort a hot bath can bring.

There is so much I need to be doing, but instead I sit here with my mind whirring, listening to the slowly calming heartbeat of a human woman who doesn't seem to realize she's almost two centuries old.

What am I going to do with her? Some vampires keep pets, but I am not one of them. It's a habit I've always found revolting, so my realm of knowledge involving humans doesn't extend far from devouring them in every way and casting them aside. She would require sustenance. I straighten one leg so I can get to my phone in my pocket, firing off a text to Jason telling him to gather several day's worth of human food and whatever else she may need and deliver them to the safe house. I was specific for him _not_ to come inside, for fear that he would see her.

Nobody, not even Stackhouse, could know that Pamela was human. The spell obviously didn't go according to plan for some reason, as I highly doubt I was meant to end up with her. It's not that I can't trust my dayman with the information, it's just that the information could be easily glamoured out of his feeble brain, and until I turn her again she is so fragile…

"Eric?"

Her voice is so soft, so broken. In a flash, I'm at the door, sticking my head through while averting my eyes to respect this new-found sense of modesty she's picked up in her human form.

"Yes?" I answer her hesitantly.

"Could…would you…can you just sit with me? I…" she trails off, looking up at me, her eyes huge and so sad, so lost, it almost brings me to my knees. I simply nod, not trusting my voice at the moment. Moving aside the shampoo and conditioner, I sit down on the ledge of the tub, looking at my feet. I hear the water move, and can sense she's moved closer to me, leaning her back against the bathtub.

I risk a glance at her, taking her in. I'm pleased to see she looks markedly less stressed in my presence. Her heart, which was pounding more than it should be when I entered, has slowed, and her panicked breathing has calmed. The bubbles have her mostly covered, her hair is wet and hanging in ringlets around her face, which is perfectly illuminated in the soft lighting of the master bathroom.

She is fucking _exquisite_.

She catches me staring (although I wasn't doing much to hide it) and I smile softly at her. To my upmost surprise and pleasure, her full lips part into a smile in return.

"Feeling better now?"

She nods. "A little." Her gaze drops down to the bubbles covering her chest. "I'm sorry."

I highly doubt Pamela Ravenscroft has ever apologized for anything, ever. My face falls.

I reach out, pushing her chin back up until she finally meets my eyes, my fingertips caressing the line of her jaw. "What in the world do you have to be sorry for?"

"For asking you to sit with me. You can go, if you want to." She sniffles, pulling away from me. "I'm sure you have better things to do than babysit me while I take a bath."

I stop myself from telling her I'd love nothing more than to discard the jeans I'm wearing and slide in the tub behind her, to bathe her myself, to wrap her in my arms hold her until the water turns ice cold. Instead, I respond with a simple, "Nonsense."

When her eyes snap up to mine, the relief is written across her face. She _needs_ me.

"Let me wash your hair for you, Pamela."

She regards me warily for a moment before nodding. I slide gracefully off the marble edge of the tub, coming to rest on my knees beside it. She dutifully turns her back to me, sending the water splashing around the edges of the too-full tub. Cradling her head with one large hand, I dip her back into the water, re-wetting her hair.

I clench my jaw, struggling to ignore her breasts, which were uncovered in the process and were looking even more inviting once they were exposed the colder air of the bathroom. I quickly right her, causing them to be plunged back beneath the surface of the water and once again covered by the bubbles, allowing me to form coherent thought again.

I pick up her shampoo, squeezing some into my palm, and set to work massaging it into her scalp. Her eyes flutter closed at my touch as I work the shampoo from her scalp to the ends of her long hair, a small smile crossing her face as I watch.

She doesn't speak as I expertly dip her back into the water again, supporting her with one hand while the other hand runs through her locks, rinsing out the remnants of the shampoo.

This simple act causes me to become awash in fond memories, of a time not so long ago when we did everything together, and I do mean _everything._ How we would spend entire nights, from sunset to sunrise, completely lost in each other, shutting out the world until it was only us. How I would run her luxurious baths just like this one and bathe every square inch of her perfect body reverently, only to dirty her up again.

"You've done this before."

Her words bring me back from my reminiscing. I smile at her as I sit her up again, glad to have a distraction from my thoughts. "I have. It's been a while, though."

"Are you married?"

I snort. "No, Pam."

She frowns to herself, why, I don't know. I twist her hair, piling it on top of her head with deft fingers to keep it out of the water. Grabbing the loofa and body wash I fetched from her room, I push them into her hands as I rise to my feet.

"Will you be okay for a moment while I go shower myself?" I say, glancing down at my blood-spattered chest.

Her eyes widen before she seems to shake herself, nodding. "Yes. I'll be fine."

I look at her for another long moment before nodding myself. Crossing to my shower, I grab my own body wash and shampoo, and turn to stride from the room.

Her voice stops me in my tracks as I put my hand on the doorknob.

"Eric?"

I take a deep, unneeded breath before turning to face her again.

"Pam."

"Thank you, Eric."

My eyes bore into hers from across the room, my words spilling from my lips unbidden. "I'd do anything for you, Pamela. And you _will_ remember that."

Without waiting for a response, I leave the room in a blur, swiping angrily at the tear that makes its way down my cheek.

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**A/N: Again, please feed the review whore. She can't write on an empty stomach.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: *Chef voice* Hello, children. Welcome to Chapter 12. Enjoy.**

**I might not own Eric and Pam, but I will own Alan Ball's head if he doesn't reunite my loves.**

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**Chapter 12**

It was the best bath I have ever had.

Unfortunately, it was also the only bath I can remember. Regardless, I felt much better afterwards, warm and smelling nice and squeaky clean.

Especially my hair.

I sigh, shaking myself. Glancing around the foggy bathroom, I decide my only option clothing-wise is the robe again. Picking it up from where it lay on the floor, I shrug it on, tying the belt tightly around my waist. Pulling the lapel of the robe up to my nose, I inhale deeply, wondering why I feel so calmed by Eric's scent.

_Eric._

I know I should be terrified of him. He's a vampire, for god's sake, he could kill me in an instant. I could feel his immense strength when he swept me up to carry me effortlessly back into the house. But…he hasn't yet. In fact, he swore he would _never_ hurt me. And for some reason, I believe him wholeheartedly.

He says we have a connection, and I may not know anything else, but I know that to be true. The very second my eyes focused on him in the woods earlier this evening, a heartbeat before rational thought kicked in, telling me to flee, to run for my life, I was flooded with a foreign sense of relief upon seeing his face. It was as if my subconscious knew that he would make everything okay again. And that's exactly what he promised me, as his blue eyes pierced me before he dashed from the room in a blur, his face a mixture of anguish and determination. That he would do anything for me, and that I _would_ remember that.

But what would I remember, exactly? What do I know now? Only my name, Pamela. And _his_ name. And that I feel like I'm going to come unglued when he leaves the room.

Pulling the plug on the bathtub, I turn and walk to the door, padding softly down the hallway to the room Eric tells me is my own. I can hear the shower running, the door to the bathroom cracked slightly allowing the steam to billow out into the room. So, I can add that to my list of things I know. Eric likes a really, really hot shower.

My hand is pushing the door open, my feet planning to walk in the bathroom uninvited before I catch myself. I take several steps back from the door, feeling my face flood with heat as I blush. Why am I being so clingy to this stranger, this man who isn't really even a man? To distract myself, I turn to the closet, sliding open the door and walking inside.

I'm taken aback by all the clothes. Dresses, tops, and bottoms in every color imaginable, and the shoes…the shoes! I drop down on all fours, leaning down with my nose practically on the ground, reaching out to run my finger over the toes of the pumps lined up against the wall.

I suppose I was so captivated by my apparently impeccable taste in footwear to have noticed the shower was no longer running. I hear a deep voice behind me clear his throat.

"I don't know why I'm surprised to find you in here."

I sit up on my knees so quickly I bang my head into the shelf above me. Startled, I spin around, holding my forehead, to find myself face to face with a towel, which is wrapped loose and low around the hips of my savior. I scramble backward, stunned by his close proximity, crashing into the neat little rows of shoes, sending them scattering everywhere.

From my new seat, sprawled on my ass amongst a million shoes, I slowly raise my eyes. Up, and up, and up, and up some more.

I know that right now I can recall exactly one man on this earth, but even still, I know without a doubt that Eric is the most gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on. Handsome doesn't really begin to cut it. He is _beautiful_. My eyes travel up his legs that seemingly never end, his trim waist that the towel is barely clinging to, his chiseled stomach and chest, on up to his face, which is painted with a cocky smirk. Oh, shit. Busted.

I drop my eyes, warmth flaring in my cheeks again. In doing so I noticed that during all my scrambling, my (his) robe had flopped open.

"Fuck," I growl, gathering either side of the robe, pulling it tighter around me. At my expletive, Eric lets out a booming laugh. Mortified in so many ways, I cover my face with my hands, pulling them away again when I feel something warm and sticky on my fingertips.

"Double fuck," I mutter, turning my hand towards him, palm out, so he can see that I'm bleeding, apparently from hitting my head on the shelf. As soon as I make the connection, my head starts to throb.

In a flash my eyes can't even follow, he's on his knees before me. It's unsettling how fast he can move. The useless tiny towel tied around his waist has exposed one muscular thigh, all the way up to his…oh god. I pull my eyes away with much effort to look up into his face, which is so, so very close to my own.

I watch, transfixed, as he gently takes my hand and brings my bloody index finger to his face. I'm horrified and memorized at the same time, trapped by his icy blue gaze locked on mine, as he inserts it in his mouth, his cool tongue laving the blood off of my fingertip. Releasing my hand, he breaks eye contact for the first time since he startled me in the closet, looking up at the wound on my head. I can feel the warm trickle of blood flowing from my temple down to my cheek and I watch as his eyes follow the blood, seemingly captivated.

He slowly reaches out, running one finger over the wound, causing me to flinch and furrow my brows at him. He smiles softly, before gathering the rest of the blood on the digit, popping that too in his mouth. I must have wrinkled my nose, because he gives me a deep chuckle, resonating from deep within his chest.

"I told you what I am already, Pamela. What exactly do you think vampires do?"

Looking up at him, I nod. "You did. Knowing and _seeing_ are two different things, though."

His amused expression falters momentarily before he wipes it clean, blank of any emotion. How does he do that?

"You're more right about that than you know." He seems to shake himself, flicking his eyes back up to my head wound. "That would require stitches, normally."

I'm just about to ask him what the fuck he's being so cryptic about, when I hear a snick. He opens his mouth, and I'm somewhat startled to see his fangs have made a reappearance.

"Calm down, Pam." he commands quietly, and to my surprise, I do.

He once again brings his finger to his mouth, this time piercing the skin of his own fingertip with one fang, both of us watching as a tiny, dark bead of his blood forms from the puncture. Taking my head in both of his large hands, he gently applies the blood that wells there on my wound while I study the pensive expression on his face as he works.

"Feel better?" he asks when he's through. I nod as best I can with him still holding my head, because it _does_ feel better.

"Yes. How?"

"Vampire blood has healing properties, among other things. You're good as new."

I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, suddenly fighting the urge to cry again. "Hardly."

His smile is a sad one this time, as he drops one hand, the other trailing down across my jaw as he whispers, "I will fix this, Pam. I swear it." One lonely tear overflows from my eye, making it's way down my cheek. He swipes it away with the pad of his thumb, and after giving me another one of his long, inexplicable looks, he suddenly is on his feet, extending a hand to me. "Come."

Sliding my hand into his, I allow him to pull me to my feet. We're standing so close together in the tightly enclosed space, him towering above me, and again I realize I should be afraid, very afraid, of this powerful, dangerous creature. But instead, I _long_ for him to wrap his arms around me, to hold me like he did in the woods, to rub my back and whisper in my ear that it'll be okay.

I risk a glance up at his face to find him watching me intently, and as if he can sense exactly what I need, his long arms fold around me, gently pulling me to him. Resting my face against his chest, a small smile quirks my lips as the soft, blonde hairs there tickle my cheek.

One word fills my mind while I stand there, caged in his embrace. More than a word, it's a feeling, a sense, a belief.

_Home._

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**A/N: I hope you guys approve. It's been an interesting challenge to try to stay true to Pam, despite her memory loss. I think, even without her memories, Pam would still be the snarky bitch we all adore, and I'm doing my best to incorporate her personality into her...current state. Anyway, review whore is hungry. Do your thing.**_  
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	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, kids. I split this chapter in two, it was getting too long. Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 13**

I don't know how long we stood there in that closet, her wrapped securely in my arms, my hands caressing her hair and her back, and I don't care, either.

In a thousand years, I don't think I had ever felt so at peace. Yes, Pam was right, she was far from good as new, but she was here with me, in my arms. I couldn't stop the unneeded sigh of relief that escapes my lips at the comforting thought.

Eventually, it was me that pulled away first, only because as I focused on her breathing, her heartbeat, the woosh of blood through her veins, the warmth radiating from her into me…I was becoming more and more acutely aware that we are _not_ dressed. And not to brag, but this towel wouldn't stand a fucking chance.

"Let's get you something to wear, and then we'll talk." I pause, frowning at her. "I know you're probably hungry, but there is literally nothing here for you to eat. Jason will be coming by in the morning to bring you food."

Grabbing her hand in mine I pull her from the closet and over to the chest of drawers in the bedroom. I open a drawer as she looks on, watching me curiously. I rifle through the drawer, pulling out another one of her million frilly pink nightgowns, this one being silky and long. Opening another drawer I pull out the negligée's matching panties, then turn back to Pam, holding them out for her.

"I must really like pink."

I snort. "Like doesn't really cover it." I gently prod her towards the bathroom as she smiles at me over her shoulder. "Go change. I'll do the same." Her smile fades, transforming into the beginnings of a panicked expression. It takes me a moment to realize she's afraid of being alone again. I reach out, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Okay then. You change, then when you're done, we'll go to my room so I can put on some clothes. Better?"

Relief floods her features as she nods, turning back towards the bathroom. Several moments later, she emerges. My fangs emerge seconds later as I struggle to keep them covered with my lips. She looks stunning; I had unwittingly chosen an extremely sexy nightgown, although my intention was to find something that covered her. Backfired. Big time.

The silk adhered perfectly to every curve, the neckline accenting her neck and collarbone, the fabric clinging to her full breasts. Normally Pam was used to me leering at her unabashedly; it was kind of my thing. Now, though, she was blushing beet red under my heavy gaze, staring down at her toes. Weren't we the awkward pair.

I inclined my head toward the door, and she obediently shuffled towards it, me following closely behind her. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide her back down the hallway to my room. Stopping to grab some track pants from the closet, I duck quickly in the bathroom, changing and combing my hair.

When I emerge, she's standing beside the bed, fingering my talisman that she must have found on the bedside table. Her ring is between her pink-manicured index finger and thumb, and as I watch from the doorway, she holds it up for me to see.

"You were wearing this earlier."

I nod. "Yes," I answer simply.

One corner of her mouth turns up into a smirk. With that simple expression, she looks so much like her normal self for a moment, it leaves me reeling how much I miss her, even though she's sitting right in front of me. How the fuck could I have let this happen to her? I'm her maker, and I had failed in protecting her. I'm not sure how I can ever forgive myself.

Her voice breaks me out of my mental bitch-slap. "Pink. It must be mine."

I laugh despite myself, striding up to her, running one long finger down her cheek. "It is. I will have Jason get it cleaned for you, so you can have it back."

"Who is Jason?"

"My daytime assistant."

"Oh." She places the necklace back down on the table, turning her face back towards me. "Why do you have it?"

I look at her for a long moment, trying to figure out how I can do this…how I can explain to this girl what she was, who we were. What happened to her. Shaking myself, I walk around to the other side of my California king and settle myself up against the headboard, motioning for Pam to do the same. Glancing at the clock, I see it's not far from dawn, although I know I'll have to force myself to stay awake today. I can't leave Pam alone, bleeds or no bleeds.

I watch as she climbs up on the bed beside me, sitting primly with her back against the headboard and her hands folded in her lap. A pang runs through me, realizing this is the way we began our night, but now, my Pamela was not whole. No, she was a human woman, looking at me expectantly, waiting on an explanation I don't know how to give. No wonder this felt like the longest night of my existence.

"What are you thinking about?"

Once again, her soft voice breaks me from my thoughts. Smiling gently, I reach over to clasp her hand in mine, steeling myself for what's to come, and if I'm honest, anchor myself to her so she can't run.

"You, little one."

She furrows her brow at me and retorts smoothly, "Duh."

I can't help it, I cackle. Somewhere, deep down, my irritating smart-ass of a progeny is still in there.

Once I calm myself, I start talking, staring at our intertwined hands, smoothing circles on her palm with my thumb.

"Your name is Pamela Ravenscroft. I met you well over a century ago in London." I look up at her and her eyes widen, but she doesn't speak. "I turned you. You are my progeny, my child. Up until earlier this evening, you were a vampire, like me."

She shakes her head, shock and confusion written across her features. "Your child?"

"Not in the way a human has a child. Vampires choose a person they would like as a companion and turn them. It's the way we are made. I don't…Pamela, I'm fluent in many, many languages, but yet I cannot find the words to describe to you the bond between a maker and his child. To become a maker is an eternal commitment, greater than any marriage, deeper than any human bond."

"I _am_ human."

I nod. "You are now."

"What happened to me?" she asks in a small voice.

Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, I force myself to relive the worst night of my entire existence.

"We own a bar, you and I. When you arrived tonight, there was a witch there, scheduled for a meeting with me." I wait for her to question the existence of witches, but instead she looks at me apprehensively, ready for me to continue. "The witch threatened me, and you attacked her. She cursed you, I believe. I thought," I stop and clear my throat, trying to dislodge the knot in it. "I thought you were dead. You disappeared right in front of my eyes, Pam. Our bond broke…"

"Bond?"

As if it was reacting to being mentioned, that hollow place in my heart where she used to be throbs. I refuse to fucking cry again. I've wept more this night than I have, well, ever, and it's not very manly.

"Blood bond. When a vampire chooses a progeny, he drains him or her completely of their blood and refills their body with their own blood. Three nights later, the person rises as a vampire. Because you were of my blood, I could feel you, and you could feel me. Emotions, feelings, whatever you want to call them. I've felt you buzzing away inside of me every single night for almost two hundred years."

"And now?" she asks.

"Nothing," I whisper. The hand that isn't holding hers unconsciously rises to touch the place where my heart used to beat. "You were gone. _Are_ gone. I can't fucking stand it."

I risk a glance at her, to find her staring at her lap. "I'm sorry I can't remember you, Eric."

I turn to her, grasping her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. "But you do, don't you? You feel something for me. You know there's something there. You might not know what it is, but you _know_ me."

Her bottom lip trembles, and I can't help but stare at it, again fighting the irresistible urge to kiss her.

Finally, she nods imperceptivity, raising her hand to clasp my wrist. "When I saw you in the woods. I felt…calm. Relieved."

I smile softly, her words pleasing me more than I can say. "You have a funny way of showing relief."

She growls at me, _growls._ She sounds like a pissed-off kitten, and my smile grows.

"I was afraid."

My smile drops, knowing I scared her, but how was I supposed to know she didn't know what a vampire was?

"I'm sorry I scared you, Pamela. I thought you were gone, and then you were there…"

"Not you," she interrupts.

My eyes flash. Why hasn't it occurred to me she may remember something, anything, from what had happened to her?

"Who?" I grit out.

She swallows, and I see that lost, frightened look on her face that I thought I had successfully chased away. She looks down at her hands in her lap.

"I don't know. I don't remember really? I was just…there. There were men, I don't know how many. And…they hurt me."

My voice is deadly quiet. "How so?"

She shrugs a shoulder, a tear escaping and making it's way down her cheek. When she looks up at me again, she looks positively haunted.

I can't help myself. At supernatural speed, I pull her into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around her. She automatically curls herself around me, her warm cheek resting on my chest. I can feel her breath fanning across my skin as I wait for her to tell me who's heads I'm going to rip the fuck off.

Finally she starts talking, her voice disjointed, disturbingly monotone, just like when I found her in the woods earlier this evening.

"I remember hearing voices. Gruff voices. Talking about the moon?" I growl, holding her even tighter. Werewolves. "And then they realized I had woken up. We were in…a van maybe? One of them came back to the back, where I was. He was as big as you, hairy, and he smelled horrid." As angry as I am, I can't help but smile. That sounds like something normal Pam would say. I sober instantly at her next whispered words. "He tried…I think he was going to rape me, Eric."

My grip on her tightened enough that she squeaked before I realized what I was doing.

"Tried?" I hiss through gritted teeth.

She nods, wrapping her arms around my neck, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder. I lay my cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the fresh, clean scent of her hair, trying to calm myself, for her sake if nothing else.

"Tell me what happened, Pamela." I command.

"I fucking killed him."

I pull her away from me by her shoulders, looking down at her face. "You did what?"

She meets my gaze squarely, every trace of that frightened little girl gone, and for a moment I'm looking into _my_ Pam's eyes.

"I killed him. I don't even know with what. There was so much junk in that van, and when he was fumbling with his jeans, I grabbed something and stabbed him to death."

I can't even imagine the look on my face. Pulling her back to me, I tuck her head under my chin so she can't see the wide smile that I'm sporting. This woman was going to be the final death of me. She, in her human, addled state, killed someone. Not just _someone_, a fucking werewolf. I've known vampires that can't take down a werewolf. She is perfection, pure and simple. I'm just sad I missed it.

"This is why I turned you, all those years ago, my sweet Pamela. You are magnificent."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Here's the other half, as promised. It's a bit fluffy, but our babies needed to chillax for a few, don't you think? And, uh, Alex and Kristin at SDCC, I can't even. Hold me.**

**I don't own Eric and Pamela, but Kristin has stolen my heart...AGAIN.**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

An hour later, the sun has risen, and Pamela has set.

She was obviously shaken by reliving the little bit she remembered of her evening, and feeling her warm teardrops falling on my chest, I decided not to push her for more information tonight.

Instead, I just held her close, listening as her breathing eventually evened out. Even once I realized she had fallen asleep I refused to move her, enjoying the warmth of her body against mine as my ancient mind tried and failed to make sense of the fuckedupness of our situation. Only when a drop of blood ran from my nose into her hair did I lay her down, smiling to myself as she sighs in her sleep, curling up into a little ball, snuggling my pillow.

Standing, I pull the covers up to her chin and smooth her hair back from her face. Striding across the room to the bathroom, I grab a washcloth, knowing that drop of blood would be the first of many. But not only did I not want to leave her alone in her current state, I hadn't had a chance to explain dying for the day, and certainly that would frighten her further to wake up to being spooned by a corpse. A vampire as old as I am can handle staying awake during the day if necessary, but the bleeds are inevitable.

Standing in front of the mirror, I wipe away all traces of blood from under my nose and what was beginning to seep from my ears. The sound of her shifting about in the sheets hits me first, before she moans as if in pain. Materializing beside the bed I observe her, puzzled, as she tosses and turns, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyes. Is she dreaming? Vampires don't dream, of course, and although I've never had a human in my bed long enough for them to sleep, I _do_ know they dream.

She mewls again and begins to whimper "no" over and over again, and instantly I'm behind her, pulling her tightly to me, her back to my chest. She startles awake from my touch and for a moment she begins to fight against me.

"Shh, Pamela. It's me, min älskling."

Instantly, she relaxes into my embrace, resting her hands on my arms that are wrapped around her like steel bands.

"I had a bad dream."

My nose is buried in her hair, so my reply is muffled.

"So you did."

She struggles to turn over in my arms, so I relax them to let her, smiling as she settles down on the pillow facing me.

"You left me, didn't you." She nods decisively to herself. "That's why."

I smirk at her. "Are you accusing me of causing your nightmare? I only went in the bathroom."

"Do vampires dream, Eric?"

"No. We don't sleep. We die, quite literally, during the day." I reach out, tossing a loose curl back over her shoulder. "You should get more rest. I'm pretty sure an hour isn't enough sleep, tiny human."

"I don't want to sleep," she mutters petulantly.

"Tell me of your nightmare then."

"What did you call me earlier? I didn't understand."

For some reason, I can't meet her eyes. "Min älskling. My darling. Your nightmare, Pam."

"What language is that?"

"Old Swedish. And don't make me ask you again."

She wrinkles her nose at me. "Nope," she replies, popping the _P. _"I don't want to talk about it. I want to talk about you. I don't know anything about you."

I roll my eyes. Good to know her bratty streak is intact. "Answer my question and perhaps I'll answer some of yours." I pause to waggle my eyebrows at her, eliciting a small but beautiful smile from my child. "If you're lucky. Anyway, you know more about me than anyone else on this planet, save for one."

"Who?"

"Pamela."

She huffs dramatically and rolls over on her back, away from me, much to my dismay. It takes her a moment, but when she speaks, it's to the ceiling, and her voice is small and sad enough that I regret pushing her.

"I was running. From them. I had…I had his blood all over me. I can't believe I killed someone, Eric."

I stop myself from telling her she's slaughtered mass quantities of people since I turned her, humans, weres, vampires…she would turn them into confetti with a smile on her face. If killing one person, in self-defense no less, bothers her that much, I can't imagine her reaction to finding out about some of the bloodbaths we created together in her younger days, even if they used to be some of her…fondest memories. Mine too.

I shake myself, realizing she's stopped talking. "He was going to," I choke on the word, unable to even say it. "He was hurting you, Pam. You had to defend yourself." I should have been there to kill them all, to protect her. She is _mine._

She nods. "I know. But, I was just running. Through the woods. The dream…it felt so real. My chest hurt from running, and I was so cold. The branches on the trees were scratching me," she looks down at her arms, where faint scratches still are visible. "My feet hurt, everything hurt, but I knew I couldn't stop." She sucks in a shuddering breath, a few tears escaping her eyes. "I was so afraid, Eric. I don't know how I found my way to you."

I hook one long arm under her neck, pulling her closer until she turns to rest her head on my chest.

"That's pretty much it though. I'm sorry I don't remember more."

"Stop apologizing," I mutter, as I run my fingers up and down her spine, attempting to soothe her.

"Sorry."

"Pam."

She laughs, nuzzling her cheek against my chest. "Your turn."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

I chuckle. "That would take a lot longer than you realize. Be specific."

"Who is the other person that knows you like I do?"

"Godric, my maker."

"Is he my grandfather?"

I full out laugh at this, imagining Godric's reaction to being called a grandfather. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. Vampire relationships are…different than humans, though."

I feel her nod against me. "How long have you known Godric?"

"Godric found me over a thousand years ago and made me his progeny." I stop when she looks up at me, bewildered.

"A _thousand_?"

"A _thousand_," I respond, imitating her perfectly.

"You're pretty fucking old."

"Yeah, well, so are you."

"How old is Godric?"

"I'm not entirely sure, he isn't either. Somewhere between two and three thousand years old. He is one of the most ancient of our kind." Combing my fingers through her blonde hair, I repeat his own words. "You were born into greatness, Pamela, just as I was. Our blood is ancient and strong. One should not choose a progeny lightly, either, Godric taught me that. I am his only progeny, as you are mine."

She nods, laying her head back down on my chest. "How did we meet?"

I smile widely, although I know she can't see it from her current position. "Godric had sent me out on my own. I was in England, wandering quite aimlessly, as I didn't really know what to do with myself at the time. I'd never admit this to anyone but you, little one, but I was desperately lonely. In those days, we had to hide what we were, so it was a life led starving in the shadows. Any humans had to be killed or glamoured so they couldn't reveal our existence. And most of the humans were foul creatures." I wrinkle my nose at the memory.

"I first saw you as I walked down a deserted street in London, crawling out of your bedroom window at your parent's home, and amused, I stopped to watch." My voice takes on a wistful tone as I remember that night fondly. "You were from a wealthy family, so you were dressed impeccably in a bustled yellow dress. You were the most gorgeous woman I had laid eyes on in a long, long time. Your beauty caught my eye, of course, but back then, women were not allowed out on their own, especially after dark. I was intrigued by what it was you were sneaking out to do."

"Which was?"

I grin. "I'm telling this tale, my dear." My fingers take up their previous task, running up and down her back, feeling the softness of the silk of her nightgown. "I followed you. Stalked you, as you like to put it. At the time, I thought I just wanted to fuck you, drink from you, then glamour it all away. But I felt…a pull towards you. Godric had told me I would know when it was time to become a maker, that I would know when I met the one who should be my progeny.

You slipped into another house, not emerging until close to dawn. I stopped you in the street, unable to help myself, and reminded you it was far from proper for a lady to be out at that hour, not to mention extremely dangerous. You informed me, rather snottily I might add, that you had been in the…company of a married couple." I smirk, remembering how matter-of-fact she was about telling me she had been fucking them both all night, and that it was none of my business where she had been anyway, she could handle herself. A human had _never _spoken to me in that manner. I was instantly enthralled. My cock twitches at the two hundred year old memory of her, her chin inclined proudly as she sassed a blood-thirsty, starving monster in the darkened street. "You were surprisingly honest with me, for a stranger. You said were betrothed to a man you didn't love, as was the custom at the time. That you didn't want to be someone's wife, to take care of their house and have their babies. You didn't want that life. You wanted to _live._

I offered to walk you home, and along the way, I told you I could take you away from all of that, give you a life you could never imagine. I revealed myself to you, and you didn't even flinch, Pam." I had never met a being as brave as she was, human or vampire. She was a glorious creature, even as a human. I knew right away she would make a ruthless vampire, _my_ ruthless vampire. "I offered to make you mine, and you accepted without hesitation."

She yawns and asks, "And then what?"

"You led me to your bedroom, where I turned you. I left you in your bed, so your family would think you died of natural causes. They buried you in their family plot, and after they left, I dug you up, then reburied us both until you rose three nights later. The rest is history, as they say."

I can feel her smile against my skin. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you saved me, Eric."

My chest constricts at her words . She's said that same thing, so many times and in so many different ways in our years together. But I've never told her the truth; that I was a desperate, lonely man, lost without his maker, delirious with hunger, and on the verge of going over the edge, losing my hard won self-control, which would have only ended one way: a stake through my chest. The true death.

I thought I had lost her last night, and I realize now how close I was to coming full circle, because either by my own hand or by another's, I would have met the true death due to her own. I would have met the sun, or gone on a slaughtering spree to avenge her death until someone did it for me.

I can tell by her slowing heart rate she is falling asleep again, curled around me, so I take the opportunity to tell her the truth, as I should have all along. Gathering her up closer to me, I kiss both of her closed eyelids softly, before finally replying to her words of gratitude.

"You are the one that saved _me, _min söta, vackra kärlek. We take care of each other, you and I. And we always will. Tonight, min kära, we make this right."

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**A/N: Okie dokie then. Review?  
****  
Swedish translations, I hope, anyway:  
min älskling: my darling  
****min söta, vackra kärlek: my sweet, beautiful love  
****min kära: my dear**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Crazy RL stuff. Anyway, on with the show.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but if I did, I'd make sure Pam got to get vampdrunk with Eric for once. Geez. Can you imagine?**

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**Chapter 15**

My eyes snap open, and immediately panic sets in. I sit straight up in bed, sending the covers flying, wild eyes darting around the darkened room.

"Eric?" I squeak.

In the blink of an eye and a rush of wind, he's there, standing at the foot of the bed looking down at me. He's gotten dressed while I was sleeping, clad in skintight, dark colored jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, his hair slicked back from his face, not a single hair out of place.

He looks like a _vampire._ I realize that until now, I haven't seen him dressed. When he found me in the woods, he was shirtless, barefoot, and all sorts of disheveled, and the rest of the time we've been together he was clad only in pajama pants, his newly washed hair flopping playfully in his face.

Now, though, he looks the part of a thousand year old vampire. Holy shit. My eyes linger on his arms and shoulders before making their way, finally, up to his face.

The corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk as he watches me taking him in. "You rang?"

Embarrassed from getting caught, well, checking him out _again_, my cheeks darken and I look down at my lap. I hear Eric suck in a sharp breath, before suddenly he's beside me on the bed, turning my face up to his with one long finger. His smirk is gone, replaced with a weird, wide eyed expression I can't quite place.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're blushing."

"And?"

"I can't recall ever seeing you blush. Vampires don't, of course, but even in your human life, you were hardly the blushing type."

"I'm…sorry?" I reply, confused.

"Don't," he whispers, that same finger brushing my cheek, "You're beautiful."

I look up at him, bewildered. This man thinks _I'm _beautiful? Has he looked in a mirror lately? And why did his comment make me feel warm from my head down to my toes?

"Thank you," I finally reply, reaching up to grip his wrist on the hand that's still tracing my cheek. He flattens his palm and I press my face into it, his hand so large that his fingers curl into my hair. For a long moment we stay that way, watching each other, before he smiles.

"You're so warm. It's weird."

"You're so cold," I reply instantly, "and that's weirder."

Eric laughs out loud, and what a beautiful sound that is. He flashes me a toothy grin.

"Come, you fucking brat," he stands, grabbing my hand and dragging me off the bed, settling me on my feet. "Jason came while you were sleeping. He brought you food."

My eyes light up as my stomach gives a huge growl. I'm starving. I follow him out of the bedroom and down the hall into a part of the house I haven't been to yet. My eyes widen as we enter the huge kitchen, almost every surface is covered in grocery bags.

"What's all this?"

"I have no clue. He put the stuff in the freezer and refrigerator that has to stay cold. Oh and," he points at the oven, "apparently his sister made you something called a casserole, whatever the fuck that is. It's in there to stay warm."

I follow him like the lost puppy I feel like as he crosses the kitchen, opening the oven door. We both lean down to peer inside. Whatever it is, it smells delicious. Before I can stop him, he reaches out and grabs the dish, tossing it up on the stovetop and shutting the door.

"Eric!" I squeal, grabbing his hand, turning his palm towards me. It's red and blistered from the hot dish, but before my eyes it begins to heal, almost instantly going back to normal. I look up to see him smirking at me. Flinging his hand away from me, I cross my arms, feeling stupid. "Show off. Use a potholder next time."

He arches a brow before replying, "What makes you think I _have_ a potholder? I didn't even know the oven worked. In fact, I don't know how to turn it off."

I reach out and press the 'off' button with one pink manicured nail. It's my turn to arch a brow, and his turn to feel stupid, I see, and it makes me grin.

He grins back as he opens almost every cabinet before finally producing a plate and a fork. Handing them to me, he takes a seat on a barstool at the kitchen island, resting his chin on his hands as he watches me make a obscenely large plate of food.

"Later tonight, I will call Godric. I need to figure out how to help you get better, and I can't ask just anyone without putting you in more danger. He may be the only person I can trust."

I cross the room, sitting down beside him. I take my first bite of my meal, closing my eyes in ecstasy as it's taste floods my mouth. I have no idea what it is, some sort of meat, lots of cheese…it's delicious. I look up to find Eric watching me intently, his eyes focused on my mouth.

He seems to shake himself before he asks, "Good?"

I nod. "Very. Jason's sister must be a wonderful cook. What's her name?"

He shrugs. "I can't remember. I'm surprised I remember Jason's name sometimes. Snooki? Sookie? Something stupid."

Rolling my eyes, I change the subject. "Will Godric come here?"

"We'll see. I've never encountered a witch that can do what she did to you in my thousand years. If anyone has, it will be Godric."

"Tell me about him."

His eyes take on that wistful, faraway look that he was sporting last night when he was recounting the night that we met as he speaks. "Godric is the greatest vampire I've ever known. He…" he trails off, looking down at me, as if lost for words. "I can only aspire to be half the vampire, half the man that Godric is."

"You love him."

He swallows, looking away from me, obviously uncomfortable. "I guess you could say that. I spent over eight hundred years at his side, Pamela. I told you before; there are no human terms that can encompass the meaning of the bond between a maker and child. It transcends anything and everything you can imagine unless you experience it." His eyes search mine for a moment before whispering, "You _will_ remember it."

Unable to stand the pain written on his face, I look back down at my food. We lapse into silence as I finish the mountain of food I heaped on my plate, him studying me the entire time, his eyes boring into the side of my head.

I can't help but wonder what, if I was myself, I would have to say about the man sitting beside me. Would I speak of him like he does of Godric? With adoration, with awe, with a love that can't be put into words? Is that why I feel so drawn to him, like my world should revolve around him? Like I shouldn't be away from him, even for a moment?

And what did he mean, vampire relationships are different than human's? What did that mean for us? He spoke of Godric as one speaks of a lover, but also as a father or a brother. Were we ever lovers? I risk a sidelong glance at him, studying his profile, the line of his jaw, the all-around massiveness of him, and decide if we weren't, well…something was obviously wrong with vampire me.

He pushes back the barstool he's sitting on suddenly, rising to his full height. Taking my plate he tosses it in the sink, then digs some aluminum foil out of one of the grocery bags, covering the casserole dish before sticking it in the refrigerator. I smile to myself watching him complete this domestic task. Eric doesn't strike me as the domestic sort of guy.

When he's finished, he turns to lean against the counter, his hands gripping the edge behind him. I sit back from the island, rubbing my belly, feeling overly full. I wonder when the last time Eric has fed was, he's been stuck here with me for well over twenty-four hours now. A strange sense of déjà-vu fills me, as if this is something I would usually concern myself with.

I look up to see him smiling at me, teeth and all, and my breath catches in my throat. Swallowing, I push away from the island, coming to stand on my feet. I pad barefoot around it to mirror his stance against the opposite counter.

We regard each other for a long moment as I work up the nerve to ask the question I want to ask. I want to know more about us, but I'm afraid to ask so directly. It felt so…normal for me to want to ask him if he'd fed, as if I've asked him that same question a thousand times before.

It suddenly occurs to me that he drinks human blood. The thought should scare me, repulse me, but only one thought is in my mind: I want it to be me he feeds from tonight, not some random girl. I can give him this, after all he's done for me. Wanting to take care of him seems like second nature to me, even if I can't remember the how's and the why's.

Feeling braver, I flick my hair behind my shoulder, exposing my neck, watching as his eyes drop, following my movements.

In a flash he's pushed away from the counter, taking two steps towards me in that predatory way of his, his eyes pinned to my throat even as he comes to stand before me, towering above me very much inside my personal space.

I wait until he finally tears his gaze from my neck to ask what I want to know, his blazing blue eyes answering my question before I even ask.

"Are you hungry, Eric?"

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**A/N: Chapter 16 is underway. Yay! Review?**

**Also, if you like this story and you're on twitter, I'd like to take this opportunity to pimp the roleplay group I'm involved in. We're working through a similar storyline, and it's pretty fucking awesome, if I do say so myself. Find us at 50ShadesofBlood, Eric ( TheTrueViking) and Pam ( GlamFangs), not to mention a handful of other characters. Until next time, kids!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So, this chapter got out of hand fast. I hope you like.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, but wowza, Eric. Dude's running buck wild.**

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**Chapter 16**

"Are you hungry, Eric?"

My fangs snap down at her words. Why, yes, I am in fact pretty fucking hungry. And not just because I haven't fed.

With Sophie-Anne's visit night before last, I never got to feed. It was Pam that fed the next night, gorging herself on the blood of that godforsaken witch. And I've been quite literally chasing her around ever since. As an old vampire, I don't require to feed even nightly, but old habits sure do die hard.

Pam and I have always been proud of what we are. We feed because we have to, yes, but I've always been a man of indulgence. I take more blood than I need, more sex than I need. It's who we are supposed to be. As it stands, I've been without both for several days. I'll blame my lack of control over my fangs on that. Right. It has nothing to do with the fact I've found myself enamored with her yet again ever since I thought she was…

I tear myself out of my musings, as they have taken an unpleasant turn, and look down to see Pam smirking at me, and for a moment I almost forget that she's not herself. She certainly _looks_ like herself, with that bitchtastic smirk and arched-eyebrow that I can blame on nobody but myself. It's a much needed distraction because I realize I'm getting way ahead of myself here.

Placing my hands on the counter at either side of her body, I lean forward, bringing my face down level with hers.

"What amuses you, my dear?"

"Your face," she answers, her smirk breaking into a beautiful smile before she giggles. Fucking giggles. Pamela Ravenscroft does _not_ giggle.

"Oh?"

She nods. "You looked at me like I had slapped you."

"You may as well have slapped me, Pamela."

"You never answered my question, Eric."

"You don't know what you're asking," I reply.

"Enlighten me."

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. "Well," I begin, not entirely sure why I am trying to convince her to do anything other than hop up on this counter, lay back, and let me feast on that delicious femoral artery running up her inner thigh just like the good old days. "I…I'm not sure that's a good idea, Pam." A weak finish at best.

Her face falls and her gaze lowers to my neck, suddenly refusing to look me in the eye. She had been so confident there for a moment, and I didn't properly appreciate her happy, care-free mood until it was gone. "Why not?"

Sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear before turning her chin up, I reply, "I just don't want to take advantage of you, Pam. You're not yourself. The real Pam…"

"I _am_ real."

Way to go, Eric. Bad choice of words. My voice softens as I cup her cheek. "Of course you are, älskling."

"Have I never fed you before?"

I smile indulgently. "Oh, yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's been a while, is all."

She frowns for a moment before surprising me by taking a step forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and turning her head so her cheek rests against my chest. My arms come around her on their own accord, one hand spanning the back of her head, one arm draped around her shoulders.

When she speaks again, her voice is small. "You've done so much for me."

I drop a kiss on the top of her head, whispering into her hair, "It's my job, Pamela. My pleasure. You're my child. I've always taken care of you, just like you take care of me."

Her cheek nuzzles against my black t-shirt before she replies softly, "I _want_ to take care of you. Please, Eric. Let me feed you. I don't want you to leave and find someone else."

As she talks, I realize my hand has subconsciously slipped to her neck, my fingers stroking her pulse. I can feel the blood pumping through her veins, her heart thumping away against my chest; still such a strange sensation to me.

She's _insisting_. And this is something I really, really want. Since when does Eric Northman not take what he wants?

I drop my arms and step back, taking her hand. "Come with me."

She pads along behind me as I lead her to the living room, eyeing me curiously as I sit down on the couch, opening my arms to her. Without hesitation she climbs in my lap, angling her body sideways so her legs dangle off on one side of my legs. I hook one long arm around her waist, pulling her closer, flush with my body.

She's still only wearing that long, silky, impossibly _thin_ nightgown, I notice a bit too late. I'm running my hand down her thigh, feeling the fabric when she finally speaks again.

"Will it hurt?"

I give her a wolfish grin. "Only if you want it to."

She's taken aback for a moment before her lips turn up into a smirk. "I don't."

"Then it won't." I continue to pet her, relaxing her with broad strokes of my hand. I feel her melt a little further into my embrace with each pass, my fingertips caressing her back, her shoulders, her legs, her stomach. "I've become a bit of an expert at this after a thousand years, Pamela. You were too, you know."

She looks at me with the oddest expression for a moment before she laughs. "I never stopped to think about it. That I used to drink blood."

"Now you eat entire casseroles in a single sitting," I tease. And it's working, she's almost putty in my arms. She won't feel a thing but pleasure.

I lied, really. I'm not an expert at _this._ Trying to make someone comfortable, happy, relaxed before I bite. No, this very well may be a first for this old vampire. Normally, I could give a fuck rather my meal is, well, anything besides willing and pliant. Rather or not there is any pain, or discomfort. No, especially in these times of willing donors and fangbangers, I'm usually anything but gentle.

But…this is Pam. _My_ Pamela. Who still, despite how brave and straight-forward she's been tonight, is wandering around acting like a little deer, skittish of everything she sees and hears.

I allow myself to concentrate on the body in my arms, becoming completely attuned to her, just as I was made to be. I am a predator, first and foremost, my entire being is built for feasting on human blood. I allow her heartbeat, the gentle woosh of blood through her veins, the smell of her skin to take over my thoughts as I continue to run my hands all over her, my fingertips playing against her collarbone, her arms, down to her thighs and calves.

Finally, when I can stand it no longer, I lean forward. I run my nose and lips softly up the column of her neck, smiling against her skin at the resulting shiver that runs through her body; the sound of her heartbeat picking up and the smell of her arousal assaulting my senses. I pull back slightly, using one finger to tilt her head towards mine so she has to look into my eyes.

"Are you sure about this, älskling? You don't have to do this."

"I know Eric, I _want_ to do this."

And who the fuck am I not to give a lady what she wants?

Cupping her jaw gently with my hand, large enough that it spans her whole face, I let my fingertips slide down, massaging the nape of her neck softly before I turn her head slightly away from me. My lips find her neck again, placing soft kisses as I locate her jugular. I let my tongue retrace the path of my lips, tasting her sweet skin, coaxing the blood to the surface. Without further preamble, because I'm not sure I could wait another second, I open my mouth and let the razor-sharp tips of my fangs gently pierce her skin.

The only sound Pam makes is a tiny gasp, her hands fluttering around before they finally rest on my arms that are banded around her waist. I, however, groan like an idiot when the first mouthful of the sweet ambrosia that is her blood charges forth from her body into my mouth like it is dying to come home. My arm around her waist tightens as my other arm travels higher, my hand cradling her head reverently when she goes completely limp in my arms, her head rolling back for me to support its weight.

Her taste is achingly familiar, although I have only tasted it the night I turned her so many years ago. In my mind, I'm transported back to that place and time, the sights, sounds, and smells flooding back to me like it was yesterday, this woman in my arms almost as unfamiliar in some ways as she was to me that first night. This train of thought only reminds me that I was buried inside her to the hilt the last time I tasted her human blood as I drained her, the night I made her mine for eternity, causing me to ache with the same need.

Her blood is delicious, clean and pure of all the toxins and chemicals that fill the veins of humans today. A happy purring noise fills the room, and it takes me a moment to realize it's coming from me. As I drink, her fingers play along my forearm, feathering strokes of her warm fingers. I'm fucking in _heaven_.

And it's not just her fingers. Her whole body is warm, and the warmth seeps from her into me. I'm surrounded by her, absorbing her in so many ways. I can feel every inch of her that is in contact with me, the weight of her tiny body against my chest as she snuggles into me; her soft hair, still smelling sweet and clean from her shower is fluttering against my face, and it's too much. I can't help it. My hands start wandering as if they have a mind of their own. I _want_ her. She is _mine._

I somehow manage to keep myself from doing anything _too_ inappropriate. My fingers run down her legs, pulling the silky negligee over her knees so I can feel her bare skin. Traveling back up her body, my hands squeeze her hips, her waist, before settling on her ribcage, my fingertips purposely brushing the underside of her full breasts.

The little mewling noises she's begun making intensify at this; the most sweet, innocently sexy sounds I have heard in my long life. I feel her heartbeat slow slightly, and not wanting to take too much after all her body has been through, I reluctantly withdraw my fangs, earning another beautiful moan from her lips. Licking the puncture wounds closed, I lay my head on her shoulder and close my eyes, trying to calm myself down and will my erection away.

When I raise my head she's staring straight at me with wide, wild eyes, and before I can even open my mouth to say something witty, she strikes.

At first, I'm too shocked to return her kiss, but she doesn't seem to mind. She kisses me hard, her lips crashing into mine, her tongue no doubt tasting her blood on my lips as it coaxes them apart. She was the last person, the _only_ person I can recall kissing. To me, kissing is more intimate an act than fucking, and it's not something I do with my meals. It's been decades since I've felt her soft, perfect lips on mine, but when I feel her warm tongue caressing my own, it snaps me from my shock-induced coma in the blink of an eye.

My hands fly up to frame her face, pulling her closer to me as I return her kiss finally, and with fever. She tastes wonderful, she smells wonderful, and she's so fucking _warm_, all I can think about is how it would feel to bury myself inside her again, just like I had been longing to do since the night I found her in the woods, and realized I hadn't lost her...that she wasn't gone from my life forever.

I smile against her lips as she struggles to reposition herself, trying to get closer to me. Grabbing her hips, I quickly pick her up and pull her to me without breaking the kiss, and she moans in pleasure as she settles back against my body, straddling me, no doubt feeling evidence of what she's done to me; how much I want her, how much want this.

It's my turn to gasp in surprise as she grinds herself down on me, said gasp quickly turning into a ragged groan, her fingers winding into my hair as she kisses me for all she's worth, somehow expertly maneuvering around my still-extended fangs that I can't seem to will away. My mind is whirling. This is _not_ Pam in my arms in so many ways, and for a split second I feel as if I'm taking advantage of her. She _did_ kiss me first, if you ignore the fact that I tried to kiss her when I found her, and have thought about it a thousand times since. But...Pamela, when she was back to her right mind, would understand, right? She knows how much I love her. She'll know I thought I had watched her die, she'll understand my desperation to feel close to her again. And it's not as though this hasn't happened before. I can almost hear her voice in my head saying, "Ever the opportunist, you asshole," and me retorting, "You asked for it, _begged for it_, brat."

But, whatever rational thoughts I was having flies completely out the window when she grips the hem of my shirt, whimpering into my mouth when she can't get it off. I help, only breaking our kiss long enough to yank it over my head before I'm right back, both hands tangled in her hair, consuming her again as her small hands explore my chest and shoulders, dragging her nails across my skin. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I flip her over on her back at supernatural speed, grinning as she yelps in surprise. I cover her tiny body with my own as she wraps her legs around me, breaking away from her sweet mouth to nibble down her neck, her earlobe, her collarbone; my hands tracing her breasts through the expensive silk of her gown, causing her to make more little cries and sighs of my name that are music to my ears.

My cock is throbbing painfully at this point, still suffocating inside my jeans, poor guy. I rock back on my knees on the couch with every intent to remedy that situation, but seeing her lying there, her legs spread wide, her chest heaving and her blue eyes wide causes me to forget that train of thought. Instead, I dive down, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of her thigh, breathing in deeply the heady scent of her arousal as my hands slide her nightgown up her long, slender legs.

The blood rushing through her femoral arteries is pulsing deafeningly next to my ears. In retrospect I'd blame the fact I didn't anticipate what happened next on that, but in all honesty, I was just completely consumed with my little blonde spitfire; my senses, both the normal and vampiric ones, dulled to anything except her.

So, although it shouldn't have been, it came as quite a surprise when I heard someone clear their throat pointedly behind me, just as my lips were inching their way towards the apex of her thighs.

"Am I interrupting, my son?"

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**A/N: Yeah, that was all completely unexpected, right down to the cockblock there at the end. Hope it works. Review pwease? **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I've made up for it, I hope, with this crazy long chapter. I've stressed myself out with Godric's surprise appearance. I hope I have done him justice. Anyway, on with the show! Later, taters.**

**As always, I don't own these babies, but Eric owns his very own set of blue balls.**

**Chapter 17**

"Am I interrupting, my son?"

My lips still on Pamela's skin, so close was I to my ultimate goal that the lace from her panties is brushing against my nose. That is until she shrieks, kicking and scrambling away to the other side of the couch, struggling to pull her nightgown back down and cover her chest with one of the thousand stupid throw pillows she picked out for the living room.

My eyes slowly turn away from her, still somewhat in shock from what _almost_ just happened, towards the voice of our untimely visitor.

Then I laid eyes on my Maker for the first time in almost two centuries.

In a blink I'm on my knees before him, bowing my head, showing my deference to the only being on this planet that deserves it from me.

"Godric," I whisper reverently.

I feel his hand on the top of my head for a moment before he tips my chin up with one finger. I raise my gaze, taking him in. He looks the same, of course. Other-worldly in his beauty; a two-thousand year old mind trapped in the body of a 17 year old boy, his eyes the only feature that tells the story of his age. The simple linen tunic and pants he's wearing are rumpled, as well as his short, dark hair; from flying here, I presume.

"Eric," he replies in that accented, sing-song voice of his, his face blank, but his eyes are glittering with mischief. Said mischievous eyes flicker to Pam, who is still shaking on the couch, inclining his head to her slightly. "Eric's…friend."

I look up at him, albeit only slightly since even kneeling I'm only a foot shorter than him. "It's Pam, Godric. That is Pam."

His eyebrows furrow, looking down at me like I've lost my mind, before he motions for me to rise. I oblige, crossing back to Pam's side, sitting down beside her on the couch while gesturing for Godric to do the same. Instead, he remains standing in the doorway, studying Pam with ancient eyes.

"I came because I felt your pain, Eric. Moments after I felt…I thought…" he trails off, stepping a little further in the room. "I couldn't imagine what would have caused you so much pain besides losing your child."

Pam's hand darts out to grasp mine as Godric ambles slowly across the room. I can hear her heart rate picking up, smell the fear rolling off of her in waves. I squeeze her hand back just as Godric comes to stand before her.

Even though he is my maker, my possessive streak rears it's ugly head when he reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning in, drawing in a deep breath, his face too close to my…to Pam's neck for my comfort. I keep silent, though, even as Pam's wide, frightened eyes lock with mine. I know Godric would never hurt her, he's become much too passive for violence in his later years, and he would never try to take her from me although as my maker it would be well within his rights.

He leans back, confusion written on his normally blank face as he murmurs, "Human. And she reeks of magic, dark magic."

Pam scoffs incredulously, forgetting her fear momentarily, not seeming to care that she's face to face with one of the oldest vampires in existence, one that could snap her neck in an instant with just his fingertips. Under other circumstances, I would have been amused at her reacting to his words in a most Pam-like way.

"Excuse me? I don't fucking reek."

"Pamela," I bark in my 'as your maker I command you to shut the fuck up' voice, a stern tone she probably doesn't remember me using with her before judging by how those huge blue eyes snap to mine, glistening with tears, tears that I put there. Tears that make me want to wrap my arms around her and pet her and coo at her like a lovesick schoolboy until they go away.

That was the moment when I realized I was well and truly fucked. _Again_. This woman will be the death of me.

I soften my tone, squeezing her hand once more. "You must be respectful. And for fuck's sake, watch your fucking language."

Godric snorts. _Snorts._ First Pam giggles, now Godric's snorting. Add to that Pamela's being human, and the fact that my maker is even here in the same room with me after all these years, I can't help but wonder if I somehow lost my mind the other night; I hear it happens to the old ones sometimes. Or perhaps I've stepped into another dimension.

"It is fine, my child," he says to Pam just as I am wondering if pinching myself would wake me up. "And it is a pleasure to finally meet you, although the circumstances could certainly be better." His lips turn up into a wry smile as he adds, "As well my timing, it would seem."

We both watch the blush that blossoms on Pam's cheeks as she looks away, a shy smile playing on her lips, making my cock ache. She could use the blushing as a torture technique.

His smile fading, Godric takes a step back, turning to settle down on the other couch and turning his attention on me. "I made my way here after I felt your pain and distress two nights ago, my son. I have been able to feel her, though very vaguely, through you since the night you turned her as we are all of the same blood. I felt your bond with her break. I felt your suffering, Eric. It was more intense than anything I've ever felt from you in over a thousand years…"

He trails off, his eyes focusing on Pam and I's intertwined hands a split second before Pam squeaks in pain. I loosen my grip, rubbing circles on her hand with my thumb to get the circulation going I had cut off inadvertently while Godric spoke of what he felt that night.

"I thought she was finally dead." My voice is low when I speak, my eyes focused on the bright pink nail polish on Pam's fingers, so tiny and fragile looking wound around mine. The color is beginning to chip, something that would drive her bat-shit insane if she were herself. One nail is broken, perhaps from the fight she got into that night trying to save herself. The fight that should have been mine. I could have lost her all over again, and never even known. "It was the worst night of my existence."

"Care to fill me in?"

And I do. I tell him everything, from Sophie-Anne's appearance the night before, her shouted words of how 'everything that belonged to me would belong to her', the witch's appearance at Fangtasia, Pam's draining of said witch. I glossed over the more painful details, knowing they would only upset Pam. When I casually mentioned Pamela killing the dog, I looked up to see Godric grinning uncharacteristically at me.

"I told you so many years ago, my son, you would know when you met the one that should be your progeny. To choose an equal, who will never quite be your equal, but worthy of it none the less." His smile turns on Pam, who is still looking rather pale after hearing the gruesome story recounted play-by-play. "I can see why you chose her, Eric. In her you met your match. Killing a werewolf, saving herself, finding her way back to you despite her condition? She is magnificent, even in human form."

I look over at her, answering honestly, "That she is. You should see her as a vampire."

I continue to recount everything I knew about the events that transpired. Soon, the tale comes to a close, with me saying, "The curse made her human, and in the process wiped her memory clean. She didn't remember her name when I found her. Or _me._" That feeling of hopelessness that came over me that night returns, and I hook an arm around Pam's shoulders, pulling her closer to me. "I can turn her again, but I don't know how to fix the amnesia."

Godric looks between us, "I have a contact in New Orleans, a powerful witch, I can visit tomorrow night. Perhaps she can shed some light. This is old blood magic, Eric. You cannot try to turn her until we know it's safe."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I had thought we'd wait a few days to let her settle down before I would turn her. Let her eat and drink and see the sunrise. It hadn't occurred to me that she'd be human for more than a few days.

"Why?" I whisper, sounding much more like a boy questioning his father than the thousand year old man that I am.

He takes a deep, unneeded breath. "For a multitude of reasons. First, she doesn't have her memories. Turning a human, as you know, makes their current state their permanent one. She may never have a chance to regain what she's lost if you turn her as she is now." Those ancient eyes flick from me over to Pam. "You do want your memories back, correct?"

"Yes, Godric," she states simply, looking me dead in the eye as she answers his question, her eyes so incredibly sad again. I tighten the arm I have draped around her shoulders, willing her not to cry. Give me blood and guts and gore any day over this woman's tears.

"Hopefully," Godric continues, "I will find out for sure tomorrow, but I also worry that the spell making her human may prevent her from being turned. If that is the case, and the spell is not lifted before she is turned, she may not rise, min bror."

My jaw clenches. "You've made your point, Sire," I grit out. "We will wait."

He smirks at me, undoubtedly feeling the emotions rolling inside me that daring to mention my child not rising after I turned her set forth. I turn to look down at Pam, who is still sitting quietly, tucked into my side, her body warming mine. As sweet and warm and perfect as she is as a human, this is not _my_ Pamela. This is a Pam whose body is fragile, breakable. She could get sick or injured at any time and have her life snuffed out, leaving me alone. This body she's in is growing older every day that we wait to turn her. And what if we can't break the spell, and I_ can't_ turn her? Ever? Can I sit idly by and watch the woman I chose to be by my side for eternity grow old, wither, and die? What if she doesn't even get the chance to grow old due to sickness or injury, something my blood can't heal?

"You need to give her your blood, Eric." Godric's voice breaks into my depressing internal dialogue, oddly echoing my thoughts. I tear my eyes away from Pam to look at him before he continues, "More than once. You need to fully bond with her."

Pam, who has been pretty much silent until now, sits up. "I am _not_ drinking blood."

I can't suppress the growl building in my chest as I answer, "You will do whatever is fucking necessary to be safe and stay alive, Pamela." My tone brokers no argument, and she shrinks back on the couch, biting her lip.

"It's not as you may think, min dotter," soothes Godric. "It will make you stronger, faster; something that very well may come in handy in the coming days." His eyes shift to mine. "You need to be able to feel her, should something happen. If you're right about Sophie-Anne being the culprit, which I believe you are, we must prepare to go to war." His grey eyes glint at this, which makes me smile, despite it all. Everyone assumes my soft-spoken, kind maker has gone soft in his old age, but I know the truth. We both always did enjoy a good fight. "In the meantime, Eric, you must put in an appearance at Fangtasia tonight."

"Jason Stackhouse, my dayman, was instructed to close the bar until further notice."

"Well then, you may need to choose a new dayman, Eric. One that follow directions. I stopped by Fangtasia first, assuming that you'd be there. It was in full swing." I roll my eyes, thinking of the ways I could torture the insufferable human next time I see him. "I then opened my bond with you and pinpointed your location to this house, but at any rate, you need to go there, even if just for a few hours. I will stay here with Pamela."

Pam makes a pitiful little noise, which I try to ignore as Godric continues, "If the queen bugged your office, then it would throw her off her game for you to show up tonight and take care of area business as usual. She wouldn't know what to make of it, and perhaps it would cause her to slip up, make a mistake."

I nod, he's right. "Very well."

"Give her your blood before you leave, my child."

I stand, offering Pam my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet. Her eyes have that panicked, faraway look in them that I thought we were rid of, and I realize I have some explaining to do, but not in front of Godric.

"Come, min älskare. We both need to change."

She nods, and I lead her down the hallway to my bedroom, taking a seat on the edge of my bed and patting the space on the mattress beside me, but she doesn't seem to notice my gesture. Instead she climbs in my lap, facing me, burying her face into the crook of my neck and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. My arms band around her back on their own volition, holding her close, stroking her back through the sleek silk of her nightgown.

For a few moments, we remain that way, until the salty smell of her tears hits my nose. I pull her back by her shoulders, looking down at her tear-streaked face. Brushing away her tears with my thumbs, I ask, "What's this?"

"I don't want you to leave me, Eric."

"I know, little one. But Godric is right. I must go, even if just to make an appearance, to show the queen she hasn't weakened me." That crazy red-headed bitch has no fucking _idea_ how much she has weakened me, but I'll be damned if I let her see it. "I'll be back before you know it. Godric will watch over you." The corners of my mouth turn up into a smile. "You may find you prefer Godric's company over mine."

"We kissed earlier."

I almost laugh at her abrupt subject change. "So we did," I reply with a smile, and I'm rewarded with a ghost of smile in return.

"Have we had sex before?"

She might as well have hit me over the head with an anvil. Of all the things I thought we'd be discussing right now, I didn't think it would be this. I don't know how much, or how little to tell her, but I give it my best shot.

"Makers almost always have a sexual relationship with their progeny, in the beginning at least. It is in our nature to fuck."

"You and Godric?" she asks, surprise written on her face.

"Yes. I told you before, Godric and I were together for more than half a millennia, off and on." My fingers trace her lips as I gauge her reaction. "I've always been more of a ladies man, however."

She seems to turn this over in her mind for a few minutes. "And us?"

Now, this is a subject I like. I give her a lascivious grin. "Pam, I was fucking you when I drained you the night I made you mine, and I didn't stop until we went our separate ways a few decades ago. There were times we didn't leave the house for days on end, destroying each other and everything around us from sunset to sunrise, drinking nothing but each other." I sigh wistfully as I smooth the hair back away from her shocked face, keeping my fingers knotted in the hair at the nape of her neck before I continue, my voice barely a whisper. "We were amazing together, min prinsessa."

She gulps, her blue eyes locked on mine. "What happened?"

"You discovered you preferred the fairer sex." She cocks her head at me as I smirk. "I guess you got that from me. We would share a human or two on occasion, but I respected your wishes. And then you decided you wanted to go off on your own, and I let you, even though I was less than pleased. I used opening Fangtasia as an excuse to get you to come back a few decades later, only a few years ago now." Chuckling, I continue, "I never admitted that out loud before. But in all fairness, I was worried about you. The Great Revelation was happening, and I didn't know how humans would react once we revealed ourselves to them. Anything could have happened. I wanted to know you were safe."

I toy with a blonde curl that's lying over her shoulder, the backs of my fingers barely brushing her warm, pale skin as I whisper, "Keeping you safe is my number one priority, Pamela. It has been since the moment I laid eyes on you. Godric is right; you need to take my blood."

Sitting back slightly on my knees, she frowns down at her fingers which are currently knotted together in her lap. "How will your blood keep me safe?"

"It will make you stronger. I'll be able to feel you. Your emotions. If you're in danger, or…" I trail off, swallowing hard before I trudge on. "If you're somehow taken from me again, I'll be able to find you. You need only drink a little, and I'll do the same. I don't know how long you will have to remain human, Pam, and having that attachment to you will set my mind at ease. If I must kill the queen, I need to not be worried for your safety. Me being preoccupied at a time like this could put us all in grave danger." My fingers leave her shoulder, brushing against her pink cheeks. "I will not deny I want this for my own selfish reasons, as well. I miss feeling you, Pam. If you could remember it, you would miss it too."

I watch the emotions flickering across her beautiful face in the dimly lit bedroom, knowing this must be a lot for her to take in. Finally, she asks, "And you? Will I be able to feel you?"

I shake my head, not missing the disappointment on her face. "Not yet. If we mutually exchange blood three times, then we will be permanently bonded, and you will be able to feel my emotions. I will not force that on you, however, if that's not something you want."

She studies my face in silence for a long moment. "And if it is?"

My response is only to pull her forward, kissing her softly, my fingers finding their way back into her hair. After a moment, I pull back only slightly and murmur against her lips, "If only you had your memories, min älskare, you would know I can't help but give you anything and everything you want."

"Well then," she says, and I can feel her smile against my lips before she whispers, "I want your blood, Eric."

My grip on her hair gets tighter as I attack her lips, kissing her deeply. This woman will be the final death of me, and I couldn't give a fuck less. All I can think about right now is her words, her _choosing_ me yet again, her soft lips on mine, her warm tongue caressing my exposed fangs. My free hand spans her lower back before pulling her towards me, her warm body flush with my cold one. Finally, I break off the kiss, leaning my forehead against hers while she catches her breath. I know if I don't stop now, we'll never leave this room, and there's much to be done.

"Stand up," I command, pleased when she does so without asking. My fingers reach out, running across the silky material of her negligée where it covers her hips. "Take this off, Pamela." In an instant, she's pulled it up and over her head, leaving her standing before me in nothing but her pink panties. I growl, partly in approval, partly in frustration that I can't fuck her while we do this. I won't have our first time in so long, the only time she can remember, to last all of about five seconds. I'm not a stupid vampire, I know what's going to happen to me as soon as I feel her taking my blood, and I don't want to embarrass myself.

"Turn around."

She does, and I grab her by her bare waist, pulling her down into my lap at supernatural speed and she shrieks from the sudden movement. I shush her as I gather her long hair and throw it over one shoulder, leaving her back bare. I band an arm around her ribs, pulling her flush with me again, groaning at the sensation of her warm skin against my chest, the undersides of her full breasts brushing my forearm. I place a few feather-light kisses along her exposed shoulder as I speak.

"I'm going to bite my wrist. You must not hesitate, Pam, or the wound will close." My voice drops a few octaves, growing hoarse with my need for her. "I will bite you while you drink. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she breathes.

"Good." And with that, I lift my wrist to my mouth, sinking my fangs deeply into my veins. I move the dripping wound around to where she can reach, and she surprises me yet again by latching on immediately. I can feel her tongue lapping against the wound, and I couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips even if I had wanted to.

I've never given my blood to a human like this before. Another first for this old vampire. Already, I'm thinking of doing this every fucking day until it's safe to turn her again, it feels so good. I can feel my life force entering her body and taking hold, her emotions singing in my own blood already: lust, trust, devotion, and…love?

I almost get distracted enough by her feelings to forget to do my part in this bonding thing. I lick up her neck, smiling as she moans happily at the first touch of my cool tongue on her skin. Not wasting any time, knowing the wound on my wrist is healing, I bite.

I start to lose my precious self-control when the first mouthful of her blood hits my tongue. My free hand slides up to cup her breasts, pinching and pulling, feeling her arching into my touch. Meanwhile, I've begun bucking my hips up into her without much conscience thought, searching for whatever friction I can find until I can finally bury myself inside her. And it's going to happen. It's just a matter of time now.

Between my pulls on her neck, my fingers expertly playing along her breasts, I know she's close. I can feel it in our shiny new blood bond. I can't stop myself from dipping my hand in between her thighs, where one well-placed stroke of my thumb over her silky panties causes her to explode, screaming, and embarrassingly but not surprisingly enough, causes me to do the same. Pulling my mouth away from her neck, I roar in my mother tongue as I ruin a perfectly good pair of jeans.

Pam rockets up and off of my lap and turns around, wild-eyed, naked, her chest heaving. She has my blood dripping down her chin, painting her full lips red. My bite, which I hadn't had time to seal, is still dripping, pooling above her collarbone. I'm in front of her in a flash, marveling at this beautiful creature before me for a split second before I dive down, licking the wounds on her neck closed before lapping up the blood that escaped, not wanting to waste a drop.

I catch her wrist as she moves to wipe her mouth, growling out a simple, "No," before I lick it all away, making my way up to her mouth, it's normal sweetness amplified by the taste of my blood on her tongue. I pick her up, spinning us around before I toss her on the bed, my thumbs hooking in her panties as I slide them down her slender legs, never breaking eye contact, allowing her the chance to tell me no if this is not what she wants. And if she wants me to stop, I would stop. I think.

I climb over her, devouring her mouth once again before making my way down her neck to attack her breasts, licking and sucking until they're both hardened peaks. My lips travel lower, my tongue laving her navel with every intention to continue lower when there's a knock on the bedroom door, followed by my maker's voice, tinged with amusement.

"Fangtasia, my child. Duty calls."

I bury my face in Pam's stomach, groaning against her skin, shouting out a muffled, "Go the fuck back to Texas, Godric."

He laughs; a childlike sound I haven't heard in so long, it makes me smile despite myself.

"Not a chance, Eric. I think I like it here."

**A/N: That Godric. Review?**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: SO sorry for the delay, dear readers. Please forgive me. I shall save my excuses and just get to work. A little recap, since it's been over a month D: since I last updated: Grandpappy Godric has shown up to lend a hand with the curse situation, and is being a giant cockblock, yet again. Eric and Pam just completed their first blood exchange, and now Daddy has to go to work. Sadface.**

**I don't own Eric and Pam, I am Eric and Pam.**

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**Chapter 18**

"Not a chance, Eric. I think I like it here."

We both stare at the door as we hear Godric walk away, deliberately making noisy footsteps as he walks back down the hall, whistling innocently. An ancient vampire, whistling. What in the world.

Eric, looking a little deflated, turns his face up to look at mine, his chin resting on my stomach. His frustrated expression makes me smile despite myself.

"Twice now," he murmurs, dipping his head to brush his lips against my ribs, making me gasp, "he has interrupted us. If it was anyone other than my Maker, rest assured I would end their existence for such an infraction."

"Eric," I admonish. "That's not very nice."

He grins at me wolfishly, his fangs still extended and gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom. "I've been called many things in my time, min prinsessa, but I do not believe nice is among them."

My eyes widen as he pulls himself up on muscular arms, crawling up my body in one fluid motion before dropping down on his elbows beside my head. I groan at the contact of his cool chest against mine. Cradling my head in one hand, he leans down, running his lips along my neck down to the place he bit me just moments ago, his fangs scraping harmlessly as if he's already dying for another taste.

"You were not so nice too, you know," he murmurs against my neck.

"What?" I question, confused.

"Before this happened. Before you became…human. You were a magnificent vampire. Vicious and ruthless when you needed to be, when I needed you to be. I was always proud to be your maker. You were also a fucking brat, and a pain in my immortal ass."

"I'm sure you deserved it."

"Indeed," he replies with a deep chuckle that resonates through me. I can hear him take a deep breath, releasing it next to my ear as he purrs, "Do you have any idea how delicious you smell, Pamela?" I don't answer, assuming that was a rhetorical question as he entertains himself for a few moments running his nose from my neck into my hair and back, sniffing me like a big blonde bloodhound. My hands squeeze his biceps before traveling up to his shoulders, marveling at the coolness of his skin, trying to ignore the anxiety that's slowly beginning to snake through me.

Finally, I blurt out, "I don't want you to go."

He freezes, face buried in my hair. I hear the soft click of his fangs retracting before he leans up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand, looking down at me with an odd expression.

The silence wears on for a moment until I start rambling. "I know you have to, Eric, but I don't want to be left alone. Not that I'll be left alone, I know Godric will be here, it's just I don't know Godric. I mean, I know I don't really know you, either, but I feel like I do at least…" I finally trail off, biting my lip as I look up at him, confused by his silence.

He smirks when I finally shut up, just a little quirk on one side of his mouth, but his eyes are sad, so sad. I raise my hand, touching my fingertips to his cheek as I whisper, "What is it?"

He swallows, reaching up to run a hand through my hair, his eyes intent on his fingers. His voice seems more heavily accented as usual, almost biting out the words. "You are not yourself, Pamela…"

My brow furrows in irritation as I answer, "As you keep reminding me. It didn't seem bother you a few minutes ago."

"No. It's just that…" he trails off, still watching his fingers as he twirls a curl between them next to my face. "Sometimes you sound like…you sound like you're fine. And then, you say something that's…"

"What did I say wrong?"

"Nothing wrong, Pam. It's just not like you to beg me to stay with you." He actually smiles a little before he continues, "If you wanted me to stay with you before, you certainly would never have admitted it out loud."

"And did you beg me to stay with you?"

He arches an eyebrow. "I've already admitted once I stretched the truth to get you to come open the bar with me. I won't do it again."

Mirroring his expression, I smirk as I reply, "I think you just did."

His eyes flicker to my raised brow momentarily before he leans down, placing a soft kiss on my breastbone. "I suppose I did." He shrugs one shoulder then shifts his large body, laying his head down on my chest, sighing as he adds, "but never again."

Silence fills the room once again, and I start combing my fingers through his hair, admiring how fine and soft it is, and almost the exact same shade as mine. Where it was slicked back earlier in the evening, all of our…activities have left it mussed and hanging in front of his blue eyes. The repetitious motion calms me, helping me swallow my anxiety.

This time, it is he who breaks the silence. "I like listening to the sound of your heart beating."

My hand stills in his hair, considering for the first time that up until now, it had been a very long time since I had a heartbeat. A pulse. Needed to eat, to breathe. More than a century, at least, according to Eric. Continuing with my current streak of revelations, I suddenly realize how old I am. Very old, though I don't look it. I was going to have eternity; an eternity with _him. _And now…

Almost as if he reads my thoughts, he interrupts my musings without moving. "I will turn you again, Pam. You want that, don't you?"

It's my turn to freeze. My eyes widen, taken aback.

"Eric, I…"

"You heard Godric. We have to wait until we know for sure you will…" he trails off, and I can feel him swallow. "We must make sure everything will work as it should. And we need your memories back, first." He leans up then, resting on one elbow, looking down at me. "Once you have your memories back, you'll be begging me to turn you. Probably whining at me in a most unbearable way, I imagine. I can guarantee that."

I smile up at him sadly, not knowing what to say. I want to ask him so many questions, so many I could keep him here all night asking one after another. So much has changed so rapidly, just in the last few hours. I don't know where we stand, what any of this means.

But I can't keep him here all night. I finally speak, my voice barely audible. "Don't you need to go?"

"Yes," he nods decisively, "I do. You have always been my greatest…distraction, Pamela." He leans down then, kissing me softly, so unlike the other kisses we've shared tonight. The others were so urgent, in the heat of the moment; but this kiss seems to convey a promise, and so much more.

I feel his hand on my cheek just before he pulls away, his thumb stroking my skin as he stares down at me for a long moment, looking as if he has something he wants to say. After a beat, he shakes himself, climbing off the bed. He reaches down and grasps my waist, picking me up and sitting me on my feet as easily as if I were a doll. His eyes slowly travel down from my face, lingering a few places on my bare body as a smirk curves his lips, a rumbling growl of approval emanating from his chest. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, suddenly embarrassed to be standing completely nude in front of this beautiful creature, essentially a stranger. I move to cover myself, but he catches my wrists, pulling me to him.

One large hand travels down my back, the other still gripping my wrist tightly, crushed between our bodies. He stoops down, trailing his cool, soft lips along my bare shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "_Never _hide yourself from me." His hand sinks lower, cupping my backside, pressing my body into his, his gruff voice rumbling through me. "It is an exercise in futility, du vackra, fåniga flicka. I know every square inch of your body better than I know my own, Pamela, every freckle, every curve…" His lips have made their way up my neck, his hand slipping lower to just barely dip between my thighs from behind as he murmurs hoarsely in my ear, "…every place it craves my touch." His words cause me to suck in a sharp breath as his hand runs back up my spine, and if he didn't have me locked in his grip, I'm sure my shaking knees would have given up the fight. His hands, his words; his rough, gravelly voice; it's almost too much. Almost, but not quite.

I really, _really_ don't want him to go.

His lips still on my neck for a moment before he hums against my skin. He pulls away just enough to look down at me, his eyes dark and sparkling. His voice drops impossibly lower as he growls, "I can feel how much you want me, Pamela. Patience, my sweet. I told you earlier…I always give you what you want." It's also readily apparent what _he_ wants, plastered to his body as I am_._ I tentatively, shakily, lift my hand; my fingertips just barely brushing his bare chest. I _do _want him. It's as if my body calls to his, but…it's more than that; and that strange craving has only intensified since he gave me his blood.

His large hand grips my chin, grinning wickedly as he tilts my head up to his, just a breath away from his lips. "We need time, more time than this. There are not enough hours left until dawn for me to do what I want to do to you." He kisses me then, long and slow, his tongue just gently parting my lips before he draws back. "Du smaka som honung från min barndom, Pamela," he murmurs lowly, before repeating himself so I can understand. "Honey. You taste like honey."

Suddenly, he's gone, leaving me grasping at the air in front of me where he had been. I look up to see him across the room, white teeth flashing at me over his shoulder. Trailing along behind him to his closet, I watch as he pulls out another pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt. I watch even more intently when he pulls his current pair of jeans off, making my best effort not to gape at him when it was _his _turn to stand bare before me; even if it was only for a moment.

I really, really, _really _don't want him to go.

As he pulls the new pair on, I get caught staring once again, quickly averting my gaze, a shy smile on my face. Out of my peripheral vision, I see him pull on the shirt before grabbing another, a soft, hunter green one. He crosses to where I stand and yanks it over my head, smirking down at me when my head pops out the neck. He raises his long fingers, brushing my cheek with the back of two knuckles, a strange expression crossing his face.

"This blushing I will miss."

Before I can respond, he turns me by my shoulders and steers me from the closet. Stopping by the bed, he stoops down to scoop up the panties he so skillfully removed moments before, which I take and slide back on. His shirt falls down past my thighs, longer than many of the dresses I spotted in my closet, so I don't feel _too_ modest when he takes my hand, leading me back out to the living room where Godric waits on us.

He's standing by the entertainment center when we walk in, a tumbler glass of blood in hand as one pale finger runs down the rows of DVD's. He turns to us, and I watch his face change when his eyes fall on his progeny, almost an expression of childlike delight. I turn to look at Eric, expecting him to be returning Godric's smile, only to see him gazing down at me, catching me so off guard that I stare stupidly at him, the deer caught in the headlights. His eyes are intense; burning blue orbs that make me want to draw many, many conclusions.

Godric suddenly chuckles, breaking us from the spell we seemed to be under, and we both simultaneously turn to look at him. He had turned his back to us, making me question how long Eric and I had stood there having a staring contest. He slowly turns, holding a DVD up between two fingers. His face cracks into a boyish grin as he looks between the case and us, shaking his head.

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Eric? Really?"

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**A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I'll do better next time, I swear on Godric.**

**Swedish translations, I hope:**

**du vackra, fåniga flicka: you beautiful, silly girl.**

**du smaka som honung från min barndom: You taste like the honey from my childhood.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Check me out, updating in a timely manner and all. Let's hear it for me. There's a lot going on in this chapter. I actually have more written, but decided to split it up into two chapters after my muse jumped off the deep end. Spoiler alert, there's a little surprise in here for you guys. Hell, it surprised me, and I'm the one writing it.**

**Eric and Pam. I've been writing this for a while now, and they still don't belong to me. Laaaaaame.**

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**Chapter 19**

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Eric? Really?"

I smirk at Godric, those mischievous boy's eyes sparkling, amusement painting his features. My eyes then flicker back to the woman at my side, still clutching my hand tightly as she looks up at me, one eyebrow raised comically high in disbelief.

"That is _not _mine. It's…Pam's. She laughs hysterically when the vampire's faces change."

Pam shrugs one shoulder, obviously she doesn't know any better, and out of the corner of my eye I see Godric raising the DVD to his nose.

"Maybe so," he says, his voice tinged with mirth as he walks over, pressing buttons at random on the DVD player, "but the case only smells like you, Eric."

My smirk falters before I scowl, dropping Pam's hand, stalking the few paces needed to close the gap between Godric and myself. He's still jabbing away at the buttons, so I pluck the case from his grasp before I wave his hands away from the device, pushing the button to open the tray, then opening the case and sliding the disc inside.

Turning, I look down at my irritating, beloved maker as I tower over his short-statured frame, struggling to keep my mouth in a straight line. Eight hundred years we spent together. We fought like siblings at times, but over all, we brought great amusement to each other. Two hundred years have gone by, and yet we act as though we just saw each other last night. Finally, I retort in a measured tone, "Perhaps Pamela is just as incapable of operating electronics as you are, _Sire._" The term of respect is spoken with so much sarcasm dripping from it, Pam in her normal state would have given me a trophy. The thought makes my face finally split into a grin that Godric returns. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm told I have somewhere to be."

I walk over to Pam, who has been watching the interaction between my maker and myself with great interest. Her eyes seem to get wider and more blue every step I take. When I come to stand before her, I stare down at her face for a long moment, not knowing what to say, or how to process these foreign feelings I have flowing through me. Finally I reach out, my large hand wrapping completely around the base of her neck as I pull her to me, kissing her forehead softly, my lips lingering against her warm skin. My thumb strokes her cheek as I pull away, bending my neck so I'm almost at her level, meeting her eyes.

I say the only thing I can think to say at the moment, somewhat bewildered by the desperation in her eyes and in her blood.

"See you soon."

I turn on my heel, striding back to the kitchen where I pick up my keys. I'm half-way to the door when I hear her light footfalls, and I turn just in time to catch her as she launches herself into my arms. Immediately engulfing her in my embrace, I sweep her off her feet, burying my nose in her hair as I walk us over to the counter. Her emotions are running wild, setting me on edge, the feelings she has are so unlike what I'm used to feeling from her through our bond. I sit her on the marble countertop so I have both hands free to comb her hair back from her face, before cupping both of her pink cheeks, turning her face up to mine.

I cut her off when she tries to speak. "It will be just a few hours, Pamela. Godric knows how to reach me should you need anything."

She looks down and off to the side, looking like a chastised child. "I know. I'm sorry, I…"

"No," I interrupt again, "Don't apologize. Eat something, relax, sleep if you feel like it. Get to know Godric, Pam, it's something I've always wished for you to be able to do." I smile softly at her, although her clinginess is beginning to bother me. Not that I mind it, it's just…not Pam. Pamela has always been extremely, and sometimes irritatingly, independent, even as a human I suppose. I sigh, becoming frustrated with this whole situation. "I'm sure he will find things to tell you that when you're back to yourself, you'll tease me about mercilessly."

She raises her little hands tentatively, framing my face, anxiety blossoming in our new bond. I can't help but close my eyes, rubbing my cheek against one of her warm palms. Bonded to a living, breathing, _warm _human. I never thought I'd see the day.

"I will miss you, Eric."

I pull her hands away from my cheeks, helping her to slide gracefully off the counter. "You'll be fine, Pamela." I turn her around by her shoulders, preparing to give her a gentle shove towards where Godric is waiting to baby-sit her, but I find myself unable to resist the creamy, perfect skin on her neck, exposed as it is by her hair which is still swept over one shoulder, just where I left it.

Hooking an arm around her tiny waist, I stoop down to place a kiss along her pulse. It's then I notice the puncture marks I left behind from biting her not once but twice tonight, marks that would usually heal all on their own. I can't suppress my frown at yet another reminder that she is not her normal self, no longer the vampire that I created her to be. I didn't heal her wounds with my blood, forgetting that she even _needs_ healing. In an instant, while I hold her tiny body to mine, my nose running up her neck to bury itself in her sweet-smelling hair again, my mind flashes back, lost our shared past.

"_We should call on the chambermaid to draw us a bath before we go to ground, Eric," she says as she rolls over to face me, resting her head on my arm as if it were a pillow, her icy blue eyes glinting in the dim light from the fireplace._

_A lazy, satiated smile crosses my features. "Ah, I am Eric again now, I see. Not Master, or Oh God…" I chuckle as she rolls her eyes, my hand beginning to slowly comb through her long hair, only a few curls remaining pinned up where they had all started out, many hours ago now. _

"_I do not enjoy rising in the evening already looking like I've been involved in a massacre."_

"_Mmhmm," I hum, leaning forward to lick the slowly drying trail of blood from her pale shoulder, my eyes locked on hers as my tongue languidly drags across her skin. "And what a massacre it was, my darling girl." The red soon gives way to the milky whiteness of her skin, all traces of the vicious bite I gave her in the final throws of a night of passion completely healed, disappeared; the violent wound only existent in my mind's eye now, the skin there back to it's pale, unblemished perfection. _

_Her eyes light up as she scoots towards me, mirroring my movements as she licks me clean from my shoulder to my chest, back up my neck to my blood-streaked chin, groaning after every few swipes of her tongue. Thirteen years now she has been at my side, and amazingly enough, I can still feel our bond grow stronger, opening up more, every time we exchange blood. Which, of course, is very, very often._

_Being a maker, the connection we share, is unlike anything I've ever experienced, not even with Godric. I find Pamela to be a fascinating creature; and to feel her every thought, every whim, every want and need inside of me as if they are my own has been a delightful experience. The power I hold over her is intoxicating, although I have never taken advantage of it. She is _mine_, and although it is a rarely spoken, rarely mentioned truth, I am completely and utterly hers. Enthralled, enchanted, and unconditionally owned by everything this tiny woman in my arms does; every move she makes, every word that leaves her perfect pouty lips, every emotion that flickers through me from her; human emotions she has yet to shed that are completely foreign to me after eight hundred years as a vampire._

_Our bond, when fully open between us as it is tonight, is almost a living, breathing thing. It is our heartbeat, as if we are one being instead of two. _

_She makes her way up to my mouth, at first kissing me softly, but at the taste of my blood on her lips and tongue, I'm once again overcome with my need for her, no matter that we spent the greater part of the night in this bed, locked away in this room. No matter that sunrise is coming soon; no matter that I've already taken her repeatedly, throwing us both violently over the edge more times than I can count._

_My hand fists roughly in her hair and in a flash, I've flipped her on top of me, groaning at the sensation of our bodies pressed together, slick from the blood covering us both. Our lovemaking this night has been particularly brutal. Deliciously unmerciful. My bloodthirsty little progeny started it, biting and drinking from me everywhere she could sink her fangs into. Never to be outdone, of course, I returned in kind, tearing into her perfect skin over and over again and gorging myself on her blood that tastes so similar to my own, both of us slashing at the other's flesh at times just to watch the blood flow._

_She sits up, straddling my body, grinning down at me as I moan in protest at the loss of contact with her lips. My eyes take her in as she looms above me. Her normally perfectly coifed hair a mess, blood drenching her every curve, having poured forth from now-invisible wounds on her shoulders, her elegant neck, her breasts, her inner thighs. She is breathtaking, magnificent; and _mine_, mine for eternity._

_My fingers trail through the blood on her stomach, my eyes focused on their path as they slowly trace the curve of her breast, only barely grazing her nipple with the backs of my fingers, watching with fascination as it hardens from my touch. I hear her gasp above me and look up to see her eyes closed, her lips parted in pleasure, leaving her fangs exposed, glinting in the firelight._

"_Miss Ravenscroft," I rasp, my fingers plucking roughly at her hardened peak until she opens her eyes again and looks down at me, those bewitching blue orbs warm and glittering. "Eyes on me, min vackra flicka. I want to see you."_

_She nods imperceptivity at my demand, and my fingers go back to their gentle caresses, smearing the blood on her chest as I cross to her other breast, giving it the same treatment._

_The room is dark, the fire burning low as I murmur to her, my voice hoarse with desire, "Du är det vackraste jag någonsin sett, min söta Pamela. Do you know this?" I smile softly as she nods, proud of how quickly she is learning to speak and understand my language, still pleased that she demanded I teach it to her. So proud of her in general. I could not have picked a more perfect progeny even if I had waited another eight-hundred years. "Tillhör du mig, min älskade? Are you mine, as much as I am yours?"_

_She smiles, that mischievous grin that captivated me the very night I found her, turned her, made her mine; so wicked and innocent all at the same time, it always drives me to the brink of insanity. _

"_Ja, min Mästare," she whispers in my mother tongue. "Alltid. För evigt."_

_I growl, a choppy motoring sound originating deep within my chest. Hearing her call me Master on her on accord, hearing the language from my home, my human life, on her tongue threatens to send me into a frenzy. My fingers trace up her breast bone to her neck, up to her lips that are still curved into that impish smirk. I stroke my thumb slowly down each of her pearly fangs; so petite and tiny, yet dangerous, lethal; just like the rest of her. I intentionally pierce the skin on my thumb on one of their razor-sharp tips, the blood welling even as the wound begins to close._

_When I press the small, dark bead of blood to her lips, she suddenly pitches her body forward, grabbing my hand in both of her much smaller ones, pulling my thumb completely into her mouth. She sucks hard on the tiny wound, eliciting a deep groan from my lips; always so bloodthirsty, my little one, especially for the taste of her maker's blood, blood that I am always ready and willing to give her._

_As the wound closes, she releases my hand, her eyes wild, burning. I can't take not being inside of her another moment. My hands slide down her body, almost completely encircling her tiny waist as I lift her effortlessly off of my body. My eyes lock unwaveringly onto hers as I position her center over my length, holding her there for a moment, teasing and torturing us both; my tip just barely brushing her opening._

_When her eyes become murderous, no longer amused by my torment, I slam her down onto me with such force, if she were a human, I'm sure it would cause irreparable damage, causing us both to cry out into the dark room. I'm not a small man in any aspect, but my dainty little hellcat greatly enjoys pain laced with her pleasure. My perfect match, my perfect mate in every way._

_I don't yet move; watching, completely transfixed, as she throws her head back, the ends of her long hair brushing against my thighs before she rolls her neck to look down at me with eyes gone almost black in rapture. In an instant, I'm on my knees on the soft bed, my hands spanning her back easily supporting her weight as her body wraps completely around mine, still buried impossibly deep inside of her, her frame slotting perfectly against mine as it has since the night I found her. A missing puzzle piece._

_My lips curve with a devilish smile as I lean down, whispering against her skin, "You had better hold on tight, little girl." I sink my fangs into her breast, creating yet another wound on her perfect skin, drawing deeply on her rich, sweet blood as my hips begin to move at supernatural speed, racing against the impending sunrise._

_Her screams of my name as I bring us both closer and closer to the edge of oblivion are like music to my ears. "Eric! Eric! Eric!…"_

"Eric? Eric? Eric, let go. You're hurting me."

I'm suddenly pulled from my memories by Pam's voice, no doubt confused over why I have her locked in a vice grip against me, and why I'm pressed hard and ready against her back. I release her instantly, hoping that the recent infusion of my blood will keep the arm I had banded too tightly around her ribs from leaving bruises.

"I'm sorry, älskling," I whisper, still somewhat shaken from the sudden, vivid memory of us, what we were. What I realize I had always unconsciously hoped we would be again, although for decades now I had pushed it from my mind, reveling in our friendship, our partnership.

She turns around and looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. I can feel her confusion in her blood, and I can feel the question coming before it even reaches her lips. "Eric? Are…are you okay?"

I force an indulgent smile as I drop the keys to the Corvette back onto the counter. Looking down at her, the concern plainly written on her face, I realize I am very far from okay. _This_ is very far from okay. We spent decade upon decade together, night after night wrapped in each other just like the night I was just recalling. It was her, not me, that brought an end to it. She had her reasons, and I respected her wishes. I am Eric fucking Northman. I do not beg for a woman's attentions, including hers. But perhaps I never let myself feel the sting of her rejection until now, buried it deep within me, unaccustomed to the feeling as I am.

This woman before me, this woman begging me to stay with her, who desires me, who I would have already fucked several times over if it was not for Godric's constant interruptions, is _not _the same woman from my memory. She is _not_ Pamela, not my child, not at all the woman I made mine all those years ago.

If Pam had not been cursed, I wouldn't have the taste of her clinging to my lips, the smell of her skin on mine once again.

I'm taking advantage of her, taking advantage of this situation.

I school my expression as only a vampire can, my face turning to stone. Her own changes slightly as her confusion grows. My voice is cold when I speak, bending down to quickly brush my lips against her forehead. "Go to Godric, Pam."

I leave her standing there in the kitchen, already hating myself for the hurt I feel creeping through me. She, too, is feeling the sting of rejection, and it was me that put it there. I can feel those blue eyes boring into my back as I walk away, but I refuse to look over my shoulder. Refuse to see the pain in her eyes that I can feel through our bond.

I stride out the door, walking past my car. I'll fly to Fangtasia tonight, I decide, hoping the crisp night air will bring me some clarity.

Stopping in the middle of the driveway, I look up at the stars. I stood here just last night, looking at the same sky, contemplating my need to continue existing after the loss of my child. Just last night, yet it feels a million lightyears away.

After taking a deep, unneeded breath, I launch myself into the night.

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**A/N: Review? Iffin you're not too angry with me? Or if you are, tell me. I take abuse like a boss.**

**Swedish translations. If it ain't right, blame Google:**

"**min vackra flicka" : my beautiful girl**

"**Du är det vackraste jag någonsin sett, min söta Pamela." : You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, my sweet Pamela.**

"**Tillhör du mig, min älskade?" : Do you belong to me, my beloved?**

"**Ja, min Mästare. Alltid. För evigt." : Yes, my Master. Always. Forever.**

"**Älskling" : Darling**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Welcome back, dear readers. I apologize in advance. That is all.**

**Eric and Pam, do you want to be mine?**

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**Chapter 20**

I was in quite a mood by the time my feet touched the ground in Fangtasia's parking lot.

I stride through the back door and straight into my office, managing not to encounter any of our air-headed waitresses along the way. Opening the door and stepping inside, I shut it behind me and take a look around. New couch, new desk. Apparently Jason _can_ follow orders if he so chooses. Not a trace remains of my fit of rage and grief the night before, "wrecking-ball mode" as Pam likes to call it.

Pam.

I can feel her even now, just a whisper in my ear after our first bonding. She's thinking of me, probably trying to figure out just what the fuck my problem is, which is a good question, since I don't even know. Little tendrils of her feelings keep filtering through; sadness and confusion, concern and just a hint of annoyance, the latter of which is the only one I'm used to feeling from her, when she is herself.

But she's not herself. And for the first time since this happened to her, I allow myself to wonder if she ever will be again. What if I can't fix this? What if she's forever trapped inside a human body, inside a mind that doesn't know who she really is?

I sink down on the new couch, running my palm across the black leather. It's smell, the smell of the wood from the new desk, the fresh paint on the walls to cover the witch's bloodstains…none of those things drown out the previous scents in the office, as strong as they are to a vampire's senses.

I can smell her. Hell, I've smelled her since I walked in the back door. Her perfume, her bath products. Her hair…

With a grunt I stand swiftly, rounding my desk and sitting down, thumbing through a stack of paperwork before returning it to where I found it. Purchase orders, one of Pamela's many duties. I can't bring myself to do them for her, as if somehow that would etch in stone that she won't be back here, bitching over her workload anytime soon. Instead, I stand, setting about trying to locate the bug that the queen has had placed somewhere in the room, searching the office from top to bottom and coming back empty handed. Perhaps it was in one of the many items I smashed to smithereens and isn't here at all anymore.

Either way, I'm here for a purpose.

For the next several hours, I conduct area business as usual; meeting with a few vampires passing through Area 5, and among other things, writing a check to the queen for the increased tribute she demanded. As I'm scrawling "For your new diamond earrings" on the memo line, my cell rings, and I can tell by the ringtone Pamela programmed that it's her Royal Highness herself.

Rising to my feet so I can dig the phone from the pocket of my jeans, I flip it open, cutting the funeral dirge short, and slowly raise it to my ear. This should be interesting.

"Your majesty."

"Sheriff Northman. How are things in your neck of the woods?"

I roll my eyes. "With all due respect, your highness, not much can change in two nights." If only that were remotely true.

"I suppose not." She's silent for a moment, before continuing, "This is more of a social call, anyway. I'm having a ball next weekend. I had _planned_ for it to be an engagement party, but since you've decided to give my offer some thought first…"

"Declined. I declined your offer, my liege."

Sophie-Anne huffs like the petulant child she is. "Since you declined my offer, I've just decided to throw a party in my honor instead." She's silent for a moment, finally getting to the heart of the reason for her call, "Do bring your lovely progeny, Eric. I've always preferred her company over yours anyway. Perhaps I should have just _taken_ her." She pauses for a long moment while I grind my teeth before adding, "…as a royal courtesan, I mean, instead of you."

I swallow, taking a moment to choose my words _very_ carefully before answering. "I'm sure you could have tried. Pamela serves at the side of one vampire and one vampire only, Sophie-Anne. She knows where she belongs."

She's silent for a moment, hopefully caught off guard by my nonchalant attitude towards the progeny I'm supposed to think is finally dead, before she speaks again. "Very well. I'll see you…both of you, next Saturday night, then. This is not an invitation, it's a requirement. Oh, and Eric?"

Silence on my end. Fuck this red-headed bitch.

"Move. The. Blood."

_Click._

I pull the phone away from my ear, staring stupidly at it for a long moment before I close it and drop it onto the desk, sinking my head into my hands, my fingers grasping at my hair. It's Thursday, and I now have a week and two days to get Pamela back to her normal, bitchtastic vampire self and get us prepared for the Queen's "ball."

A party in her honor, indeed. If Pam isn't Pam again by then, Godric and I will have her head that night.

I stand, barely able to wedge the phone back into the pocket of my too-tight jeans. For a moment a smile crosses my face, remembering one of Pam's many speeches on the subject, a particular instance sticking out in my mind.

_I'm changing here in my office, while she sits on the couch, her expression indifferent as always as she watches the show, when with a loud rip the t-shirt I'm pulling down over my stomach tears at the seams._

_"Pam," I say sternly as I stand there looking like an idiot in a torn, overpriced rag, "How many times do I have to tell you, I am not a medium?"_

_"With all due respect, Master dear, what the fuck do you know?"_

_Tearing the offending garment the rest of the way off, I throw it at her, watching as it lands squarely in her lap, covering the magazine she had been idly flipping through._

_I watch as she slowly raises her eyes, lingering on my chest for a moment before meeting mine. I can't help but smirk at the irritation on her face._

_"Wouldn't have happened if you weren't such a fucking brute. _This _is why I prefer the company of women. A softer touch. Try being less forceful next time. Do I need to dress you myself, as well as buy your clothes? Although, I don't have that much experience in putting clothes on…" She pauses in her mile-a-minute snarkfest for a moment to leer at me, a smile playing along her full lips. "I'm more well-versed in ripping clothes off. Much like my maker."_

_"I taught you well, my child."_

_"Truer words were never spoken, darling," she says as she stands, crossing to the closet, probably to choose my outfit for me. Presumptuous bitch. "Anyway, I've told you before, tighter clothes show off your various...assets. The vermin love it. And what the vermin love, they'll buy lots and lots of overpriced cocktails to be allowed to sit around and stare at." She spins around towards me in a flash of blonde and red leather, holding another dark colored t-shirt that's two sizes too small out to me._

_I sigh, feigning irritation. "Perhaps, käraste, but if I can't even get the clothes on…" I can't help but snicker at her business savvy as I lift my arms, looking down at her expectantly until she huffs and steps forward to yank the shirt on over my head, successfully pulling it on and down over my abdomen in one piece, shoving playfully against my chest when she's done. I glance up at her, a wry smile on my lips. "It's a good thing I don't need to breathe."_

_She takes a step back, throwing a sassy hand on her hip with that irritating eyebrow of hers arched sky high. "Excuse me?" She gestures to the corset she's wearing, laced so tightly that her waistline is practically non-existent. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander, Eric."_

_I frown as I take a step forward, running my index finger down the hourglass-shaped curve of her body, my eyes intent on my fingers as they travel the rigid line of the boning in the corset. I always did like corsets; like unwrapping a present. Finally I murmur, "Do not compare me to a bird, Pamela." _

_She snorts as I pull my hand away. "It's an expression, Eric. Good god, you are out of touch." She steps closer then, her lips curving into a smile as she trails her own fingertips across my chest; admiring the muscles that apparently make her more money for which to blow on shoes and whatever-the-fuck. "Now, what is my master's request for dinner? If you promise to share, I'll fetch you the Estonian whore…"_

My fangs cutting into my lip break me from yet another memory, yet again, reminding me of what we were. Friends. Companions. _Not_ lovers.

With a growl I burst from the office, striding into the club. I can't go home yet, so I cross the dance floor and fold myself onto my throne, my legs splayed out before me and crossed at the ankle. Rubbing my chin as I glance around, I nod imperceptivity at our bartender, the only ginger-haired vampire I don't want to behead at the moment. Jessica is still a baby, but under the watchful eye of Pam and myself, she's learning quickly. Her maker is boring and inattentive, a mainstreamer who never even taught her how to feed properly from a human. Pamela rectified that situation, introducing the girl to my idiotic dayman, Jason Stackhouse.

Baby vampire or not, I'll need all the help I can get if we go to war.

My eyes flicker to the dancers for a moment, quickly recognizing the one closest to me as the one Pamela so sweetly referred to as 'the Estonian whore'. Yvetta, I believe her to be called, not that either of us would have even acknowledged knowing the human's name. When she catches my gaze, she immediately acts as if she plans to cross the room to me, but with one icy look I squash those plans, not wanting her anywhere near me at the moment.

Oh, she had been near me often enough. For weeks since she was hired I had been fucking her, drinking her. And so had Pamela. More than a few times, we had _both _fucked her and drank her. Simultaneously. A slow smile begins to creep across my face at the thought. Pamela had always appreciated the female form, even from the beginning. And I had always appreciated Pamela appreciating the female form. Even when we were still very much involved, I always enjoyed the sight of her with another woman, spread before her like a feast in more ways than one. Greater still, I enjoyed it when she inevitably beckoned me to join them, to hear her begging for me…my hands and lips always unable to get to her body fast enough.

My face falls. Therein lies the problem.

Never once since she's been back from her solo adventures, when we share a meal, has she reached for me.

I'm on my feet and out the door before I truly have thought through what I'm about to do. All I know is I can't do this. I need her to understand. If she had wanted me, she could have had me, a thousand times over. But this, _me_, is not what she wants. It's the amnesia. The little girl, whose longing I've felt in my blood the whole night through, the one that wants me, needs me, is not my progeny, I tell myself again. This is not Pamela.

I take to the air, all but on autopilot. The only two beings that have I have ever shared my blood with are in the same house, and it calls to my body like a siren.

My mind is whirling with thoughts of her. If I fix her, _when_ I fix her, we will talk. I'll tell her what I want. Her, every fucking bit of her. But until she's herself, able to make that decision with a sound mind…

_I cannot take advantage of her. _

I'm sure of it by the time my boots hit the ground in the front yard. I stride through the front door, not entering through the garage door as I normally would. Following the sounds of the TV, and the blood that is bound with that of a relaxed, content human woman, I make my way to the living room, my hand resting on the doorframe as I take in the scene.

Relief floods through me once again as Godric looks up at me, his lips curved into a crooked, mischievous smile. Just seeing his face and feeling his presence makes things easier, and for a moment, I'm trapped by his eyes. Not yet taking in anything else in the room, I watch as his eyes shift over to the other end of the couch, and my eyes follow his gaze, landing there seconds before the wood from the doorframe splinters underneath my hand.

My relaxed, content human woman is relaxed and content because she's fallen asleep. My eyes narrow as the icy feeling of jealousy trickles down my back, possession slicing through me as I focus on the face of the man who's shoulder her head is resting on, his dopey grin widening as he opens his mouth to speak, too stupid to heed the murderous growl beginning to rumble from my chest.

"Hey boss," he says, "Did you know Miss Pam wasn't a vamp no more?"

* * *

**A/N: Wha-oh. Review?**

**Translations: Käraste - dear, dearest, love**

**FYI, dear readers, I'm in the beginning stages of the first chapter of a new fic. Had way too much fun with flashback Paric in the last chapter. Lets just say it starts out at certain brothel with a certain madam and a certain honorable vampire having a certain conversation. I hope you folks will be interested. And as always, thank you for each of your kind reviews. Much love, Belle**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Lovelies, I am so sorry for the delay. Real life craziness stole my muse, but hopefully it's back now. Thank you to all my reviewers, and thanks for sticking with me. Viva la Paric!**

**I don't own them, or so they keep telling me at the mental institution.**

_Last time, since it's been a while:_

_I cannot take advantage of her._

_I'm sure of it by the time my boots hit the ground in the front yard. I stride through the front door, not entering through the garage door as I normally would. Following the sounds of the TV, and the blood that is bound with that of a relaxed, content human woman, I make my way to the living room, my hand resting on the doorframe as I take in the scene._

_Relief floods through me once again as Godric looks up at me, his lips curved into a crooked, mischievous smile. Just seeing his face and feeling his presence makes things easier, and for a moment, I'm trapped by his eyes. Not yet taking in anything else in the room, I watch as his eyes shift over to the other end of the couch, and my eyes follow his gaze, landing there seconds before the wood from the doorframe splinters underneath my hand._

_My relaxed, content human woman is relaxed and content because she's fallen asleep. My eyes narrow as the icy feeling of jealousy trickles down my back, possession slicing through me as I focus on the face of the man who's shoulder her head is resting on, his dopey grin widening as he opens his mouth to speak, too stupid to heed the murderous growl beginning to rumble from my chest._

_"Hey boss," he says, "Did you know Miss Pam wasn't a vamp no more?"_

* * *

**Chapter 21**_  
_

In a flash, I've ripped Stackhouse up and over the back of the couch, slamming him down on the floor by his neck. I can hear Godric's soft voice saying my name, as well as Pam's gasp of shock, but I ignore them both as I lean down, snarling in the idiot's face as he looks up at me with wide eyes, devoid of the fear that anyone with an IQ in the double digits would hold.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Stackhouse?"

"I…just…passing through?"

I growl, tightening my grip on his throat until his sputtering stops. "Do _not _fucking touch her."

"I wasn't…she…"

"Pamela is _mine." _The words slip through my lips without my conscious thought, defying the internal dialogue I had all the way to the home. "I should have killed you fucking two nights ago. Naw, Miss Pam ain't a vamp no more," I snarl, imitating his stupid redneck accent. "This is all your fucking fault, Stackhouse. You're the reason we met with the witch. You and your borderline mental retardation did this to her. You took her from me," my voice rises as I bellow, "you took _everything _from me!"

I lean down, my fangs mere inches from his face, my voice dropping to a spine-chilling whisper. "This was your final offense, Jason Stackhouse. I'll start with you, and when I've ripped you to shreds, then I'll find your buck-toothed sister, and each and every one of your friends, tearing them all limb from limb, one by one, and I'll fucking _enjoy_ it…"

A sadistic smile crosses my face as I begin to squeeze, very much looking forward to the sensation of popping his head clean off his shoulders, the sweet sound of a human's spinal cord snapping, the spray of hot blood that will surely coat my face when the deed is done.

"Eric, let him go."

Godric's voice breaks through to me, shocking me into stopping my assault. It's been centuries since he commanded me to do anything, and I look down at my hand as it releases the human's neck on it's own accord, not at all under my control.

I look up at my maker, all of the rage I feel from seeing Jason touching what belongs to _me_ directed at him, but he's not looking at me. He's looking at Pamela.

She's wide awake now, trembling, those huge baby blue eyes full of fear. Fear of me. All my anger deflates out of me like air from a balloon as I hold her gaze for a long moment. Not since the first few moments after I found her in the woods have her eyes held fear of me. How quickly I won her trust, how quickly I got used to those eyes holding nothing but love and admiration of me.

The fear I put there is like a stake to my heart. It almost brings me to my knees.

Rising to my full height from my crouched position, my eyes locked on hers, I can hear Jason scrambling to his feet beside me. As I take a step in her direction, I watch, horrified, as she recoils from me, her arms wrapping around herself, still wearing my shirt.

Her name spills from my lips in a choked whisper as I retract my fangs.

"Pamela…"

I can feel her terror spike in my veins when I try to close the distance between us, her voice so small when she whispers, "No, please..."

Her eyes slam shut as she starts shaking her blonde head frantically. The vision of her when I found her naked and freezing in the woods is suddenly brought forth; lost and confused, crouching in the dirt and pine needles, and terrified of the strange creature towering above her in the darkness. Her eyes squeezed shut, her body trembling, her head shaking back and forth just as it is now.

"Leave us," I command the other two beings in the room, flinching as I realize how I've just spoken to my maker. But if he minds, he doesn't give his opinion any voice, as he calmly takes Jason by the arm and leads him to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my child.

I'm at the couch in a blink, falling to my knees before her. If she realizes I've moved, she doesn't give any indication of it, her fear still washing over me like a tidal wave, causing my jaw to clench. Sitting back on my heels, I tentatively reach out, my fingertips brushing her bare knee. She opens her eyes, looking everywhere in the room but at my face, but she doesn't move away, just cowers further into the couch like a cornered animal.

Pamela does not cower. From me, from anything. She's the fiercest creature I've ever encountered in well over a thousand years, even in the few hours I knew her as a human. It's one of the many things that made me want her, _need_ her. I knew instantly she was the other half of me. To see her this way shatters my unbeating heart all over again.

I reach out to touch her cheek, causing her glistening blue eyes to snap to mine. For only the second time, I briefly consider glamouring her, just to help her calm down, but I banish the idea immediately. To do so would be to betray her trust. I scared her, and all I want in the world in the moment is to fix it.

Unwinding her arms from their place tightly wrapped around her body, I take both of her dainty little hands in my own, lowering my face to brush my lips against her knuckles as I whisper just loud enough for her to hear me, "Min lilla flicka. Jag är så ledsen. Please, Pamela."

Silver. Endless hours of torture. The pointy end of a stake. Anything but this woman's tears.

"Pam, say something."

She stares at me for a long moment, before she pulls in a ragged breath, her eyes shifting down to our intertwined hands. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, Eric. I was so tired…"

"I'm not angry that you fell asleep, käresta." I'm at a loss for words to explain myself, my actions. I was angry, yes, at my mentally challenged dayman. Never at her. But most of all, I was angry at myself. I don't know how to say what I had been planning to say on the short flight home. How to explain to her that what she feels for me isn't real, isn't her. That she's not _my_ Pamela, _my_ Pamela doesn't feel this way about me.

But in this close contact, I can _feel_ how real it is, and it shatters every thought I had while I was away. She needs me.

And gods, I fucking need her.

She looks back up into my eyes, her lip trembling as she holds back her tears. "I don't want to you to be upset with me." Her next words run through me like a bolt of electricity, words I haven't heard her utter in decades, words I've longed to hear on her lips for longer than I care to admit to myself. "I _am_ yours, Eric, just like you told Jason."

Dropping her hands, I rise up on my knees, leaning over her tiny frame. My hand finds the back of her slender neck, pulling her lips to mine as I kiss her softly, my other arm hooking around her back to pull her off the couch, down into my lap. I cradle her against me as my lips move against hers, my fingers running gently through her tangle of blonde curls.

After a moment, I pull away, my hands framing her face as I answer her as best I can. "I took my anger out on Jason, Pamela. I'm sorry you saw it. But I was never angry with you. Do you understand?"

Insubordinate as always, she ignores my question as she settles herself more comfortably in my lap, those endless legs of hers wrapping around my waist as I kneel on the floor, supporting her back with one hand. "You said you were going to kill him."

"I wanted to kill him. I still do."

"And his sister. And his friends."

"Yes."

"Why?"

I roll my eyes. "I always want to kill him, Pam. He drives me insane, and he's a complete, yet loyal, fuckup. He set up the meeting with the witch; and then tonight…when I saw him with you…"

Her voice becomes small, so childlike, averting her eyes from mine as she whispers, "How did he take everything from you?"

"The witch took you from me, Pamela. This curse. You know that."

"But I'm right here, Eric." She wiggles her body a little in my lap as if to prove the point. "You said we weren't…_together _before this happened." Those stormy eyes look up to me, brimming with tears of rejection, just like when I left her, turned my back on her tonight. "You don't want this? Us?"

My arms tighten around her, pulling her against my chest. I lay my head against her warm shoulder so she can't see the anguish I know paints my features as I choke out my words with much difficulty; the truth, no less than she deserves from me.

"I do. More than I can say, little one."

I feel, more than see, her shake her head, her confusion rising inside me. "I don't understand."

Still not raising my head to face her, my thoughts and worries spill from my lips before I can stop them, unable to believe I'm speaking so freely even as the words leave my mouth.

"You drifted away from me, älskling. And then, eventually, you left me. I didn't question your wishes, and you didn't offer any explanations. It's the natural course of things between a maker and progeny, Pamela, I just never thought it would happen…we were together for so long…"

I try to stop myself, but I can't. I have to tell her, she has to understand. "When you came back, everything had changed. You didn't want me anymore, and I would never force you to be with me. Never. All you would have had to do is ask, you knew I would never refuse you anything. But you didn't. You want me now because you don't remember, Pam, you don't remember why you moved on."

I feel her lay her own head on my shoulder, quietly contemplating my words, my truth, for what seems like an eternity. Finally, her arms wrap around me, her warm lips brushing the skin of my neck as she whispers, "Maybe this wasn't a curse. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise." Even with the small amount of my blood in her, I can feel her conviction as she speaks, the tears I can smell all around me audible in her voice. "I love you, Eric. I might not know anything else, but I know I do."

All I can do for a moment is clutch her tighter to me, speechless. Of course, I know she loves me, even before this happened. I could feel it every night when we were together, see it in her eyes as she looked at me from across our club. But even in my emotionless state as a vampire, I know there are different kinds of love. Of course she loves me, I am her maker. Her father, brother, son. But lovers, we were not.

But even a one-thousand year old Viking vampire isn't made of cold, hard stone. There are weaknesses, Achilles' heels. She has always been mine, ever since the night I made her.

The thought crosses my mind that this may be my only chance. My blessing in disguise, indeed. When she's herself again, if she rejects me, this could be all I have to hold on to, whatever new memories we create for her while she has no others.

That feeling I had earlier in the night, the feeling that I'm taking advantage of her, gives way to something new; the concern that, regardless to what happens when the curse is lifted, I may never forgive myself for not taking a chance, to have her be mine, _really _mine again, even if only for a little while. The consequences, if any, be damned.

I've been lying to myself for decades. It's high time for some honesty, both now, and after I fix her. This woman, this tiny girl wrapped around my cold, dead body, is the only woman I've ever loved. The only woman who has ever loved me, all of me.

She's mine, yes; my child, because I created her to be. But eternally, I am hers. I've belonged to her, more so than she's ever belonged to me, since the night I found her walking alone down that darkened street in London, laughing in the face of Death himself. I want to be hers again. However she will have me, for however long she allows it.

I turn my head, burying my face in her sweet-smelling neck so she can't see my red-rimmed eyes. Murmuring rapidly against her throbbing pulse, I speak in my mother tongue, knowing I can hide in the safety of the language that is foreign to her again, knowing she can't react to my words.

"Jag älskar dig sĺ mycket, min söta flicka. Jag önskar att du kunde tala om för mig att du kände likadant. Du vet inte, mitt barn, du kan omöjligen känna." I stop, trying to school my voice with no success. "Det spelar ingen roll, kärlek. Det spelar ingen roll. Jag ska ta vad du kan ge."

I pull back then, crushing my lips to hers, kissing her deeply, my hands dropping to run up her bare thighs, over her waist to her back, my fingers spanning over her warm skin. My instincts beg for me to claim her, hard and fast right where we sit, regardless to who is in the next room, but I tamp them down. She deserves much more than that. She deserves nothing less than the world at her feet.

But I can't force myself to move at the moment beyond picking her up and placing her back on the couch, my body still slotted between her legs as I lean over her, devouring her mouth. This couch that has seen so much tonight. It feels like ages ago that we sat here, with her cradled in my lap, as I tasted her human blood for the first time in centuries. Since she chose to kiss me. Since I felt those arteries in her inner thighs thrumming against my cheeks. Since Godric showed up, laying eyes on him, my maker, my first love, for the first time in centuries. So much has changed in such a short time for me, that if I were human, my head would be spinning.

But I'm not human. If I were, I wouldn't be able to sense that sunrise is nearing, or the scent of Pamela's arousal as I kiss her with all the love and passion I feel for her. It assaults my senses, nearly driving me insane. My hand makes it's way between our bodies, slipping into her lacy panties, diving into the silky warmth between her thighs, my skilled fingers immediately pressing against her in just the right spot.

The sweet little gasp of surprise that action rips forth spurs me onwards, and she doesn't pull back when my fangs slam down, slicing into her tongue, filling my mouth with a few precious drops of her honeyed blood before my saliva seals the wounds. I slip two long fingers inside her, groaning at the heat that surrounds them as I break away from her lips, pulling the my shirt that she wears up with my teeth to expose her perfect breasts. My fingers take up a sensual rhythm as I capture a nipple between my lips, grinning despite myself as she cries out, yanking at my hair.

After giving her other rosy nipple the same attention, I lower myself back down on my haunches, tearing away the lacy scrap of fabric in my way with my free hand, my fingers never stopping their assault. My eyes hungrily take her in, her chest heaving, her eyes closed tightly, pleasure painted across her beautiful features. Lowering my face between her legs, I suck in a sharp breath, moaning at the scent of her, before I look back up at her face.

"Open your eyes, min älskare. Look at me. I need to see you."

Her eyes obediently pop open as she looks down at me, almost shaking with her desire. I smile wickedly at her to try to hide the desperation in my next words, but still failing miserably, my command coming out as an obvious plea.

"Tell me you love me again. Please, Pamela. Say it."

She lets out a breathy moan, her eyes widening as I lower my face to her center. "I do, Eric. I _do_ love you. So much."

I smile as I descend on her, my mouth closing over her most sensitive area, sucking and licking as my fingers increase their speed inside of her. I can feel her growing close through our bond, and at the last moment, I remove my fingers, swiftly replacing them with my mouth. She screams out her release as I hold her hips down, stopping her as she tries to run from me, growling at the taste of her, every bit as sweet there as the blood is that flows through her veins.

Before she can recover, I've moved us to my room, laying her gently down on the bed, pulling her shirt off so she's laying completely bare before me. I stand, removing my own clothes in a flash, grinning as she gapes at the sight of me nude just as she did the first night we were together.

I can feel my eyes burning bright as I look down at her, hissing, "Again. Say it again, Pamela."

"I love you, Eric. I'm yours."

Groaning at her words, the truth behind them, I pounce, crawling over her tiny frame, my lips dragging across every inch of skin I can reach on my way up to her lips. Settling down on my forearms, on either side of her head, I can't help but moan when I feel my length brushing against her warmth. I look down at her for a long moment, wishing I could make myself say the words back to her, the words I've thought countless times over the years, but have always had a hard time speaking out loud. Instead, I lean down, my cool breath fanning across her cheek as I growl in her ear, "I'm going to fuck you, Pamela, then I'm going to drink you, and you're going to drink me. I've been waiting so long, min älskare, so long…"

"Please, Eric…"

I position myself at her entrance, ready to claim her, her delicious warmth radiating into me, when once a-fucking-gain, I hear Godric's voice on the other side of my door.

"Eric."

"_What?" _I snap, but immediately I recognize the tone of his voice. It's not the playful, teasing tone of voice he has used in his previous, seemingly never-ending cockblocks tonight. Something is wrong.

"The boy has been glamoured, Eric."

I look down at Pamela's face, scrunched up rather adorably in frustration and confusion, before I look back at the door as if I can see my maker through it. Glamoured? Who would glamour Jason, and why?

It only takes a moment for my ancient mind to answer both of those questions, but before I can say a word, Godric says them for me.

"Vi har sällskap."

**A/N: Worth the wait, I hope? Poor Eric's penis. Reviews will make him feel better. **

**I know some will find this chapter to be OOC, but Imma be honest…I freaking don't. So there.**

**For those of you that read and reviewed my newest story, **_**Breathless**_**, thank you. I've decided I will indeed continue it, so be sure to put it on alert if you want more babyvamp!Pamela. Hopefully will have that ready for y'all tomorrow. Should be fun.**

**Swedish Translations, for there are many:**

'Pamela, min lilla flicka. Jag är så ledsen.' = Pamela, my baby girl. I'm so sorry.

'käresta' = sweetheart

'Jag älskar dig sĺ mycket min söta flicka. Jag önskar att du kunde tala om för mig att du kände likadant. Du vet inte, mitt barn, du kan omöjligen känna.' = I love you so much, my sweet girl. I wish you could tell me that you felt the same. You don't know, my child, you can't possibly know.

'Det spelar ingen roll, kärlek. Det spelar ingen roll. Jag ska ta vad du kan ge.' = It doesn't matter, love. It doesn't matter. I'll take what you can give.

'min älskare' = my love

'vi har sällskap' = We've got company.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hola, readers. So sorry for the delay in getting this out, real life is a bitch.**

* * *

_Last time, since it's been a while:_

_"Please, Eric…"_

_I position myself at her entrance, ready to claim her, her delicious warmth radiating into me, when once a-fucking-gain, I hear Godric's voice on the other side of my door._

_"Eric."_

_"What?" I snap, but immediately I recognize the tone of his voice. It's not the playful, teasing tone of voice he has used in his previous, seemingly never-ending cockblocks tonight. Something is wrong._

_"The boy has been glamoured, Eric."_

_I look down at Pamela's face, scrunched up rather adorably in frustration and confusion, before I look back at the door as if I can see my maker through it. Glamoured? Who would glamour Jason, and why?_

_It only takes a moment for my ancient mind to answer both of those questions, but before I can say a word, Godric says them for me._

_"We've got company."_

I freeze at Godric's words, still staring at the door, until I hear a small voice below me.

"This is bullshit."

My head snaps back to look down at an extremely frustrated-looking Pam as she echoes my unspoken sentiments. I lean down as I stifle a smile at her most Pam-like reaction, pressing my forehead against hers as I speak to Godric, already knowing the answer.

"Can they fucking wait?"

"I think not, my son." Even as he speaks, I can hear commotion in the hallway, a somewhat familiar, yet muffled, voice grunting out expletives, assumedly at my maker.

I roll my eyes, flexing my hips into hers, smirking as she groans. Knowing I'm needed elsewhere doesn't change the fact that I have _no _desire to leave her, to do anything but take her, make her mine again.

Pressing my lips against hers, I give her a long, lingering kiss, before pulling back to search her eyes as I speak.

"I am sorry, min princessa."

I begin to pull away as she grasps at my shoulders, scraping my fangs along the column of her neck as I slide off the edge of the bed, rising to my feet. Pam watches me intently as I bend down to retrieve my discarded jeans and slip them on, not bothering with a shirt in hopes I won't need to stay dressed for long.

I lean over her, pulling back the covers on the bed, motioning for her to climb under them. She pleases me by doing so without protest, and I pull the blankets over her naked body, bending down to capture her lips once more, growing more irritated by the moment. Whoever interrupted us is going to wish the fucking hadn't.

"Pamela," I begin, my voice stern enough to make her look up at me with wide eyes, "do not leave this room. Stay right here until I get back."

She begins to protest, ever my insubordinate Pam despite her amnesia, but I silence her with another kiss. "Do _not _leave this room."

"But Eric, I…"

"Pam, stay."

"I'm not a dog, Eric. You can't just tell me to stay."

I can't help but smile as I shake my head, walking swiftly to the door. "Some things never change. Please, my darling Pamela, vision of love and beauty, stay in bed. Wait for me. I'll be right back." My eyebrow quirks as I open the door. "Better?"

She smiles weakly but nods.

"Good. You and I have business to attend to, my dear," I state with a leer, stopping for a moment to watch the delicious blush creep across her cheeks at my insinuation, making my cock ache. Yes, someone will most definitely be dying for this interruption.

I open the door, stepping out and closing it behind me swiftly, and follow the voices from earlier into the kitchen.

I quickly take in the scene as I enter the room. Jason sits in a kitchen chair, staring blankly at a full glass of water on the table in front of him, oblivious to the struggle, or lack there of, off to his right. My eyes fall on Godric, who has a vampire in a headlock, easily holding him still as the man flails his limbs.

I recognize him instantly. Andre, the progeny and right-hand of Queen Sophie-Anne, his hair an unnatural yellow color, his permanently childlike face screwed with anger. He claws feebly at Godric's arm as he shifts to hold him effortlessly with one hand, his nails drawing blood, but unable to cause him any real harm, Godric being much more than two thousand years his senior.

I stride up to them, my fangs down, as I lean down to snarl in his face. "Touch my…him again and I will rip you to shreds, bitch boy. What the fuck are you doing in my home?" I stop just short of naming Godric as my maker, still not sure if his own maker has made herself privy to that information yet or not.

He tries to speak, but Godric's hold on his throat is too tight to let any sound out. I silently gesture for him to release the sniveling creature, and he does, tossing him into a heap on the floor.

He immediately starts to get up, and in a flash I'm on him, pressing him into the tile floor by his neck with my bare foot.

"Andre," I say, my voice more level than I thought possible, "It would be in your best interest to start talking."

"I think you know why I'm here, Northman."

"Maybe so," Godric chimes in, that playful grin on his face, "but I do not. Please, enlighten me."

"Let me up," Andre growls, and, knowing Godric and I have almost three thousand years on him, I comply.

He stands, dusting off his suit, the most hideous garment I've ever laid eyes on; solid red, with a matching shirt, tie, and shoes. Pamela would be appalled. He reaches up, straightening his tie, as he smiles knowingly at me.

"Where is your beloved progeny, Sheriff Northman?" he asks with a sneer, and somehow I manage to keep my face impassive. "Everyone in Louisiana knows she lives half-way up your ass."

Returning his smile with one of my own, I respond coolly, "And you don't reside in Her Majesty's ass, Andre?" Taking a step towards him, I finally add, "Pamela lives, not in my ass, but at her own home. Provided you know where it is, I'm sure you can find her there."

His gaze flickers to the comatose Jason at the kitchen table, nodding his head towards him as he speaks. "Your dayman over there was kind enough to let me know he hadn't seen Miss Ravenscroft in a few days, after some gentle persuasion. I find that…odd. Have you, Northman? Seen her?"

I can feel my jaw clench as I struggle to choose my words carefully. Of course, we had already pinpointed Sophie-Anne as the culprit, but Andre showing up here, sniffing around, is the absolute proof we needed.

"I find your choice in attire odd, Andre. Is that our game? Pointing out things we find odd?"

He sneers as his eyes flicker over to Godric. "What is the Sheriff of Area 9 doing in Shreveport? In your home?"

"Eric and I are old friends, child," Godric responds, crossing his arms over his linen-clad chest. "As the humans say, we go way back."

Taking another step towards him, I growl, "Is there any particular reason you're grilling me on my personal relationships, Andre? In my home? Uninvited? After glamouring my dayman to find it?"

"You don't pull off playing coy very well, Sheriff." Standing practically on top of him at this point, the much shorter, much uglier man has to crane his neck to keep eye contact. "Where is Miss Ravenscroft?"

It takes every bit of my one thousand years of practicing self control not to remove this fucker's head.

"What business could you and yours possibly have with my child?" I manage to respond rather evenly, if I do say so myself. "Whatever it is, I am quite sure I can handle it in her stead."

He studies me for a moment before he responds. "You truly have not seen her?"

"I believe I have said multiple times now I have not."

"She lives?"

"Why ever would you ask such a thing?" Godric says from behind me.

"Curious," he answers Godric, although his eyes stay trained on me. "As I said before, Sheriff, it's peculiar to not find them together. If you and Northman are as friendly as you say you are, you would agree."

Speaking through clenched teeth, I grind out, "Pamela is alive and well." Not a lie. "Her blood tells me she's sexually frustrated and more than a little irritated. Perhaps she was interrupted." Also not a lie.

"Very well then," he says as he strolls towards the door, "I'll be on my way then."

"Like fuck you will," I say as I follow him. "What is going on here, Andre? First a visit from your maker at my bar, and now her little pet graces my home?"

He turns to face me, opening his mouth to retort, when suddenly his eyes shift from mine to just over my shoulder. I watch as his eyes widen for a moment before they narrow, a sinister smile crossing his face, all the while his beady little eyes are focused on something just behind me. I don't need to turn around to see what, or who, that something is.

I'm going to fucking _kill _her.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here."

I turn my head slowly to see Pamela standing in the doorway, half-way hidden by the door frame, dressed in nothing but the black t-shirt I cast aside moments before. Her blue eyes are wide enough looking at Andre, but when they fall on me, I see her flinch at the fury that must be written plainly on my face.

Andre sucks in a deep breath, sampling the air, no doubt smelling her humanness. "I'll be damned. It worked." He breathes out the words, almost as if he didn't mean to say it out loud.

"What worked, Andre?" I snarl in his face.

I have to give the younger vampire credit. He doesn't even flinch, perhaps believing his royal ties give him some sort of protection in his Master's kingdom. His crooked grin crosses his face again, his eyes never leaving my child as he speaks.

"I see you met the witch in our employment, Northman?"

"You no longer have a witch in your employment, Andre," I growl.

"Oh, what a shame. She was quite talented, as you must have discovered." He sneers at Pam, who much to my dismay has taken a full step into the kitchen. "She comes with me."

I laugh out loud before I can stop myself. "I don't fucking think so."

"You have no claim over her any longer. She is human."

"She is _mine._"

"Your queen wants her," he says, turning his eyes to me. "And as we both know, what Sophie-Anne wants, Sophie-Anne gets. You'd think, after this, you would have learned your lesson on refusing her."

"Fuck you," I grit out through clenched teeth, "and your queen. I'll have both of your heads for this."

He nods as if this was what he expected, taking a deep, unneeded breath, before puffing out his chest, speaking in what I would guess is supposed to be an official tone.

"Sheriff Northman, you are under arrest for crimes against the crown…"

My booming laugh fills the kitchen. "Under arrest? What, pray tell, for?"

He smiles, his fangs poking out from beneath his lip. "Treason. The threat of the true death against Her Majesty." His eyes turn to my child as he adds, "Harboring a fugitive who killed not only a witch in Her Majesty's employment, but a werewolf guard."

My blood, already boiling, flashes even hotter with the reminder of the werewolf Pamela killed, and what she was defending herself from.

"You should consider what you are saying," Godric, who has remained stoically silent through most of this ordeal, suddenly pipes up. My eyes snap to his as he continues, addressing Andre, "You cannot think to apprehend a vampire who is your elder."

Andre grins. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'll just take the girl for tonight." His eyes narrow as he looks my Pamela over, his eyes raking over her bare legs as he finishes, "It's not long until sunrise, Miss Ravenscroft, but there's plenty of time for me to play with you before I have to return you to my maker."

He makes a move as if to take a step in her direction, and all hell breaks loose.

In a flash, I'm beside Pam, my hand gripping her arm tightly in case she decides to wander away on another one of her whims, as seems to be her habit tonight. I can feel her warm hand grasping at my back as a growl rips through my chest, baring my fangs at the queen's child as he advances on us.

But Godric makes it to him, before he makes it to us.

In a movement quicker than even I can follow, he's behind the sniveling vampire, grasping his head between both of his small hands. His eyes lock with mine for a split second before he suddenly twists, ripping Andre's head clean off his shoulders, his blood showering all three of us.

Pam cries out in surprise as I watch, somewhat dumbfounded, as Godric drops the former vampire's head to the ground, it rolling like a bowling ball to rest against his body before he slowly turns to the ashy substance we become after our true death.

My eyes meet my maker's, and I can't help but smile. His fangs are down, his face, covered in blood spray, twisted in a sinister way I haven't seen in centuries. I've only just opened my mouth to speak before I hear a strangled sob beside me.

I look down at my child seconds before her eyes roll back and her knees buckle. Using my supreme speed to catch her before she collapses, I lower her gently to the tile floor. Smoothing her hair, matted with Andre's blood, back from her forehead, I watch as her eyelashes flutter, tears leaking from her eyes. I can hear her heart beating wildly within her chest, and her emotions in my blood are so all over the place, I can't begin to make sense of them.

"Pam," I whisper to her, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Her eyes, which had slipped closed, open suddenly, piercing me with twin blue bullets.

"What's wrong?" she croaks incredulously. "Godric just ripped his fucking head off, Eric. I'm covered in blood!"

I don't know who laughed the loudest, me or Godric.

"Pam," I say, after I've regained control of myself, "Pamela, min söta…you're a vampire."

She gives an angry squeak as she grasps my arm, struggling to sit up. "I'm not a fucking vampire, Eric!"

My booming laughter resonates around the kitchen as she scowls at me. I'm already imagining rehashing this scene over and over once she's fixed again, teasing her unmercifully for it for the rest of our existences. My Pamela; my bloodthirsty, murderous, slightly psychotic Pamela, who has bathed in the blood of men, women, and children all over this earth; who has killed hundreds of humans and vampires alike at my side, laughing with me, even fucking me, as they took their final breaths, fainted because she has blood on her. Fainted because she witnessed a vampire, who she hates, by the way, meet his final death. Hilarious.

Banding an arm around her, I help her sit up, chuckling all the while. "You aren't, but you were, and you will be again. And I'll never let you live this down."

"Fuck you," she growls in a kittenish way, setting Godric off again. Her eyes snap to him as she adds, "Both of you."

Rising, I offer her my hand, but she bats it away angrily, and I watch as she struggles to her feet, moaning when she looks down at her blood-spattered body, suddenly turning to leave the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" I say with a laugh. Is this the same girl that hasn't left my side for almost two days? Who cried when I left her for a few hours to go to Fangtasia earlier this evening?

"Shower," she throws over her shoulder as she passes through the doorway.

"I think not, dotter," Godric says, suddenly at my side, his eyes trained on the remains of Andre. Pam turns, horror written all over her features, probably at the thought of staying dirty. Some things haven't changed. "Eric, we must leave. Sophie-Anne would have sensed his…passing."

I grin down at my maker, his boyish face splattered in blood. "His _passing_, Sire? You ripped his fucking head off, to quote my oh-so-eloquent child."

His grey eyes flicker up to mine, his mouth set in a hard line, all traces of amusement vanishing. "I had no choice, my son. He saw your Pamela in her human form. He could not be allowed to leave this house and return with that information. I assure you, I did not come to Louisiana with the intention of slaughtering the progeny of a royal."

Oh. In all the goings-on, I had almost managed to forget _why _this all transpired. Almost in unison, Godric and I turn to glare at Pamela, who is frozen in the doorway. I can hear her heartbeat pick up again, her body shaking in fear, no doubt from being suddenly trapped under scrutiny by two very ancient and very angry vampires.

"I'm sorry, okay? I stayed back there as long as I could, Eric, I didn't want to be left alone, and I heard shouting, and I just wanted to know…"

"Enough," Godric commands, and she instantly stops her babbling. He turns to me, asking with a twinkle in his eye, "har hon alltid varit här oförskämda?"

I bark out a laugh. "Värre. Du har ingen jävla aning."

He chuckles, his eyes turning to Pamela. "Tja, jag vet där hon får det ifrån."

Scoffing incuriously, I retort, "Dra åt helvete, Godric."

"Rude," Pam huffs, drawing our attention back to her. "I can't understand you."

Godric snorts. "Perhaps that's the point, my child." He looks to me, asking, "Another home in the area?"

I nod. "Yes. Follow me."

In a blur I've snatched Pamela into my arms, bridal style, grinning as she struggles to pull my shirt down over her bare legs. "Eric, I need clothes."

I roll my eyes. "You have clothes there, Pamela. You have clothes _everywhere._" I lean down, my face inches from hers, watching as her eyes zero in on my lips, obviously thinking I'm about to kiss her, but at the last second, just before my lips meet hers, I whisper, "Don't think you're off the hook for the trouble you've caused, little girl. You're in deep shit."

I laugh as her eyes widen, pulling away to follow Godric as he strides to the door. As he opens it, I watch as his eyes fall on something in the room behind me.

"And the boy?"

Ah, Jason. "Kill him."

"Eric!" Pam squeaks in my arms. "No!"

"Pam, don't take this the wrong way, but shut the fuck up." I push past Godric, walking out into the front yard. I look up at the sky, not missing the lightening of the horizon. We don't have much time.

Turning when I hear the door slam behind us, I smirk when I see Jason tossed over Godric's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He comes with us," Godric explains, "we will decide what to do with him later. Perhaps he can provide Pamela with protection while we go to ground today."

I nod as I look down at Pam, her warm body wrapped in my arms, not arguing with my maker, although I know she'll be resting right beside me. I can feel her exhaustion through our bond.

"Very well. Ready?" I grin crookedly when Godric nods, before taking a running start, launching myself into the early morning sky, my maker right on my heels, laughing as Pamela shrieks in surprise and terror, her nails suddenly digging into my skin, her hands in a vice grip on my shoulders.

I suppose I should have informed her before now that I could fly.

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**A/N: Until next time, kids. A review, iffin you please?**

**Swedish translations**

**min söta - my sweet**

**dotter - my daughter**

**har hon alltid varit här oförskämda? - has she always been this insolent?**

**Värre. Du har ingen jävla aning. - Worse. You have no fucking idea.**

**Tja, jag vet där hon får det ifrån. - Well, I know where she gets it from.**

**Dra åt helvete, Godric. - Go to hell, Godric.**

**PS: Some of you may have gotten an alert when I posted another fic last week. It was a Krislex fic, and apparently the powers that be removed it because Alex and Kristin aren't fictional characters. (Pfft…they are unicorns, and unicorns are fictional characters.) If you wanted to read it, please follow my link in my bio to my Tumblr page, where you'll find a link to a tiny yet spectacular collection of Krislex fanfiction. I do plan to add at least one more chapter. And yes, I know, I'm going to hell. Such is life for someone with an IRL OTP.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Super sorry for the delay, dear readers, but I hope this is worth the wait. Remember how I used to actually write from Pammykin's POV from time to time? Yeah. That. See that M rating up there? Yeah. THAT.**

* * *

_Previously:_

_Turning when I hear the door slam behind us, I smirk when I see Jason tossed over Godric's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He comes with us," Godric explains, "we will decide what to do with him later. Perhaps he can provide Pamela with protection while we go to ground today."_

_I nod as I look down at Pam, her warm body wrapped in my arms, not arguing with my maker, although I know she'll be resting right beside me. I can feel her exhaustion through our bond._

_"Very well. Ready?" I grin crookedly when Godric nods, before taking a running start, launching myself into the early morning sky, my maker right on my heels, laughing as Pamela shrieks in surprise and terror, her nails suddenly digging into my skin, her hands in a vice grip on my shoulders._

_I suppose I should have informed her before now that I could fly._

I suppose if I hadn't been afraid for my life, I might have enjoyed it. Looking over Eric's shoulder at the pretty pink horizon. The scenery below us, tiny houses and trees and cars. The stars shining above us. But no, all I could concentrate on was my terror, and a fear of heights I was unaware I had.

All in all, it was over rather quickly. When I peeked out from my face's hiding place in Eric's neck, I could see the ground coming at us at an incredibly high rate of speed, before I feel his feet hit the ground with a thud, Godric landing beside him just moments later, Jason still slung over his shoulder and blissfully unaware of the horrible rollercoaster ride they had just taken us on.

For a moment, I'm frozen, both arms and legs wrapped around Eric's torso like a barnacle, thanking my lucky stars that I'm alive, that he didn't drop me. But as he strides towards the house, Godric hot on his heels, I begin to struggle against his grip, squawking for him to put me down.

No sooner does he set me on my bare feet in the grass, I attack, socking him square in the chest as hard as I can.

"Asshole!" I squeak as I manage to get a few more licks in, not failing to notice I'm hurting myself more than him, crying out, "You scared the shit out of me! I'm going to have a fucking heart attack!"

He grins, blue eyes full of false innocence, as he easily catches my next punch, his large hand completely covering my fist. "I sense that you are angry about something, my delicate flower."

"You can fly!"

I hear Godric from behind us snort as he stands Jason on his feet, snapping his fingers in his blank face. "She must be some sort of genius, Eric."

A strangled cry of frustration leaps from my lips. "It's _not _funny."

Eric laughs as he reaches out, scooping me up again. "Sure it is. Besides, if I had told you what was about to happen, you would have fought me then. At least this way, I got you where I wanted you first."

Even though I want to keep fighting, after such a long night, I'm exhausted. Allowing myself to relax against his hard chest, I take a moment to look around as he strides towards the house.

It's beautiful. White brick, pretty charcoal grey shutters, perfectly manicured lawn. A shiny, champagne-colored Lexus parked in the driveway. Pink rosebushes and flowerbeds lining the whole front of the house.

When we make it to the tiny front porch, he places me on my feet again on the cold concrete of the landing. I take the opportunity to squat down, burying my nose in one of the roses that hangs over the porch railing, breathing in it's heavenly scent deeply as I ask, "Where are we?"

Eric smiles as he bends down to take my hand, pulling me up to my feet. He produces a key from somewhere, his pocket I suppose, and pushes the door open, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him inside as he bends to whisper in my ear, "Your house."

My eyes widen as I walk in the door. My home. Yet another reminder of the memories I've lost, another reminder that I don't know who I am.

Whoever I was, I had excellent taste.

The interior of the house looks like it was lifted directly from the pages of a Southern Living magazine. Bright, colorful, stylish. Homey, I suppose, although the only home I've known for the past two days is Eric's safe house.

Walking slowly around the living room, I pause to pick up various knick-knacks and decorative…things, wishing I could recognize something, _anything_, as my own. I trail my hand across the fabric of the couch as I walk by, the pretty pink throw pillows, the fluffy blanket draped over the back. Walking past the sofa, I stop at the little accent table beside it, running my finger through the beaded fringe of the lamp, before picking up the framed photo below it.

Eric and I. Me smiling triumphantly with my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, my head rested on his chest; while Eric scowls, although his long arm is wrapped around my shoulder. Both of us dressed in matching tracksuits.

"You forced me into that," his voice, at my ear, startles me; his hands coming to rest on my shoulders as he pulls my back flush against his chest.

"I looked happy," I answer mindlessly, my eyes searching our printed faces.

"You were, at that point, anyway," he responds, his cool breath tickling my ear, unable to help but melt into him as arms slide around my chest and shoulders, hugging me to him. "It was near the human Christmas holiday, as I recall. Not only did you require that we match, but after this was taken," he reaches around me, running his finger down the frame of the picture, "you demanded that I wear the fuzzy antlers of a stag for the next photo, and I vehemently refused."

"Reindeer, Eric," Godric pipes up from across the room as he gently pushes Jason down in an armchair, his face still curiously blank. Both of our eyes flick from the picture to Godric as he repeats, "Reindeer. Not a stag. They pull Santa's sleigh."

For a moment, Eric is silent, his arms still banded around me, before he asks from over my shoulder, "You are older than the Christian God. What the fuck do you know about Christmas, Godric?"

Godric smiles indulgently at his progeny, as he takes a seat in the chair next to Jason's. "A thousand years and you still haven't learned that I know everything, my son?"

I can almost feel Eric's eyes roll, before Godric adds, "Besides, I find humans to be fascinating creatures. Their peculiar holiday traditions, included."

Godric falls silent again, and my eyes shift back to the picture in my hand, studying our faces, the way our bodies touched. Obviously comfortable with each other, and despite Eric's scowling face, happy to be around one another. I can feel Eric's lips in my hair before he whispers, "You were so mad at me for messing up your Christmas card plans, you flew to Paris the next week and spent almost fifty thousand of my hard-earned dollars while you were there." He laughs softly as he adds, "You came back with twice as many pieces of luggage as you left with. And the way you pack for trips, min älskade, that's saying quite a lot."

I smile sadly as I whisper, "It's so strange to see a picture of yourself, but not remember it being taken."

"There are more around here somewhere," he says, "when I rise, I will find them. Maybe they'll help you remember."

"Maybe," I say, but I'm doubtful. If being with him doesn't help me remember, nothing will.

"Jason," Godric says, drawing both of our attention to him as he speaks to the dimwitted man, "You will go to sleep. And you will not move from this spot until I tell you otherwise, unless there is an intruder."

"I sure am tired," Jason mutters, his voice sounding far away.

"If there is an intruder, you will protect Pamela with your life. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Jason drawls, before somehow folding his long frame up on the armchair, immediately falling asleep, snoring loudly.

"What is wrong with him?" I question whoever might be willing to answer me.

"Glamoured," Eric says simply, as he pulls away, taking my hand. "The sun is coming up. We need to get upstairs, you refused to let me make the lower lever light-tight. You like to parade around half naked for the neighbors, apparently."

"What's glamoured?" I ask, not hearing him, still staring at Jason.

"Mind control," he answers nonchalantly as he pulls me towards the stairs, but I stop in my tracks, glaring up at him.

"Mind control?" I repeat angrily. "And how many times have you controlled my mind?"

He laughs, bending down to pick me up again as I narrow my eyes, tired of not having control over where I go because of this giant who carries me around like a boy with his favorite toy. "I wouldn't dream of it, Pamela. I'd have to deal with the consequences of _that _action once I fix you, and there would be hell to pay."

"You should have glamoured her to stay in your room earlier, Eric, and we wouldn't be in this situation," Godric says sternly from behind us as Eric slowly climbs the stairs, me in his arms.

"She's so fucking stubborn she's probably immune to glamour anyway," Eric throws over his shoulder.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," I pout angrily. First the Swedish, and now they're speaking in English as if I can't understand them.

They both chuckle, and as we reach the top of the stairs, Eric sits me on my feet once again. He wanders over to the first door, me trailing along after him, pushing it open to reveal a room that doesn't look like it belongs in this house. Dark colors, clean lines, modern-looking furniture.

"My room," he says with a smile. "Your's is down the hall."

I stare up at him blankly for a moment, a sudden panic creeping through me. Does he expect me to sleep alone in this strange house? Without him beside me? My eyes are trained on him, and his are trained over my shoulder. On Godric.

"Oh," is all I can manage to say as I turn, taking in the look of pure longing on Godric's face as he looks at his progeny. The same look of longing that I probably just gave Eric myself.

My mind flashes back to earlier in the evening, just before Eric gave me his blood, when he told me that he and Godric had been…involved, off and on throughout the years. For many more years than I had been Eric's child, they were lovers. And he said they hadn't seen each other in two centuries. Oh, indeed.

Suddenly feeling the third wheel, I look down at my feet, the blood still spattered on them giving me the excuse I need to get away. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Eric says nothing in return, only nods, as I turn to walk away, jealousy creeping through me. I easily spot what must be my room, judging by the pink walls and the bed that looks like some sort of cupcake. Trudging through without really seeing anything, I open the adjoining door, tears clouding my vision at the thought of sleeping alone, feeling incredibly stupid once again for thinking Eric and I were…

Shaking my head, stopping that train of thought, I cross to the shower, taking a moment to admire it's size. It's ridiculous, actually, it's size. More like a spa than just a shower, but it doesn't seem that any expense was spared in my home. Quickly shedding the bloody shirt I've been wearing, I turn on the water, and step under the hot spray, letting the water pour over me as I rub off the blood I can feel dried on my face.

How could it only have been two nights since Eric found me in the woods? It seems like two lifetimes, and how quickly I've attached myself to him all over again. I think of his words earlier in the evening when he came back from his-our-bar, before we kissed, before we almost…

He said I had pushed him away, and that he had always wanted me. More than anything else, I want to remember _why._ Why I left him, why I ended what we were. My attachment to him, the love I feel, is as if it's engrained in who I am, transcending this amnesia, the loss of every memory I have. It would explain why I feel this way, that tinge of jealousy I feel over Eric and Godric turning into much more than just a longing. Sadness trickles through me, wondering if I've mistaken Eric's words, his actions. Read too far into them. I told him how I felt inside, that I loved him, and he never reciprocated. Never said the words back.

"What troubles you, min söta?"

Eric's voice at my ear causes me to jump, losing my footing on the slick floor of the shower, and down I go. In a movement I couldn't begin to follow, he grabs me under my arms, steadying me on my feet before he turns me to face him.

I swallow thickly as I look up at him, struggling to keep my eyes on his face as he stands before me, gloriously nude, his chest still covered in blood from the vampire Godric killed.

"You're bleeding, Eric," I respond, pointedly ignoring his question, reaching up to swipe away the blood dripping from his ear, looking down at it as it covers my thumb in panic. "Are you okay?"

He growls, a rumbling sound originating deep within his chest as he takes a step forward, his eyes falling from my face, traveling down my body ridiculously slowly, leaving me feeling exposed under his scrutiny. He licks his lips as his eyes settle on my chest before finally answering, "I'm doing quite well."

I can't help but smile, the words sounding so strange coming from his lips in that light accent of his, stepping forward, out from under the water, to wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek into his chest.

His fingers slip into my wet hair and then trail down my back as he crooks his neck to whisper in my ear, repeating my question, "Are _you _okay?"

"I am now," I whisper back, rubbing my cheek against his skin, not caring about the blood between us.

"Why were you sad?" he asks, before I feel his chest rumble with his deep chuckle, adding, "and…jealous?"

"I don't want to sleep alone."

"And why would sleeping alone cause you to feel jealous, my strange little creature?" he asks, a laugh still in his voice.

"I…" I trail off, suddenly feeling silly, before I finish, "I thought you'd be, uh, resting with Godric. Not me."

"So did Godric, apparently."

Pulling back so I can see his face, my arms still around him, I begin, "Eric, I don't want to…"

"Hush, woman," he says as he walks me backwards into the water, the heat of it soothing the goosebumps that had broken out from the cold air surrounding us, and the cold body pressed flush against mine. He tilts my chin up with his finger, before he sets to rewetting my hair, running his fingers through it gently. "Godric understands all too well how I feel about you, Pamela." He presses on my shoulder until I turn around, and behind me I can hear him uncap a bottle of shampoo before he slowly starts working it through my hair, his fingers like heaven on my scalp. I close my eyes as I tilt my head back, a satisfied sigh escaping my lips. Several minutes pass in silence as he massages the shampoo into my hair, his fingers occasionally slipping down to stroke my neck, or pass across my ear, before he speaks again. "He can feel it, you know."

"Feel what?" I ask as he turns me to face him again.

"Stäng dina ögon," he whispers, "Close your eyes, min sötnos."

I do, tilting my head back as he rinses the suds from my hair, opening them again when I feel him break contact. His eyes are burning into mine even as he gropes around for another bottle, the weight of his stare, the heat in his eyes, is almost too much to bear. Desperate for something to say, I state stupidly, "That's new."

"What's new?"

"Snonose," I say, cringing internally at how awkward I sound speaking a language I'm suppose to know. "What does that mean?"

He doesn't answer as he reaches around me to grab a shower sponge, pouring the soap in his other hand onto it. He replaces the bottle on the shelf where he found it before he grasps my wrist, pulling me out from under the spray of the water and against him. He starts at my neck, slowly beginning to wash my skin in a soothing, circular motion; continuing down to my shoulders, then across my chest. Suddenly dropping the sponge altogether, he runs his hands through the lather he's created before dropping his hands to my breasts.

At his impressive height, he has to stoop down to bring his lips close to mine, his voice almost inaudible as he whispers the answer to my question. "My baby," he breathes, his lips barely touching mine as his large hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples, causing me to whimper. His next words seem less like a translation and more like an answer to my first question, the one he studiously ignored, "My love."

Pressing my lips fully to his, my hands reach up to thread through his hair, just barely wet on the tips; groaning as his hands never stop their task, sliding down from my breasts to run across my stomach. Slick with soap, his hands travel down my hips, then down to my legs, his lips and tongue becoming more insistent against mine as my hands fist in his hair, pulling him down to me. And then suddenly, his hands are on their way back up, dipping between my thighs, just barely caressing, teasing.

He smiles against my lips as my knees go weak, reaching up to pull my hands out of his hair and guiding them around his shoulders. He pulls back, and in a flash of movement he bands an arm around my waist, and my back hits the wall of the shower with a thud, my legs wrapping around his waist on their own accord. I watch, frozen in place, as he leans his head back, his fangs extending with a click, his free hand that's not holding up my weight slipping between us again.

His head dips to my neck, pressing kisses against my skin as his fingers slip into my folds, a strangled noise escaping my lips as he touches my most sensitive spot softly, before dipping lower. One finger slips inside of me, and then another; his thumb still teasing my nub as he takes up a slow, sensual rhythm.

"So wet for me, Pamela," he whispers in my ear, his voice hoarse.

"We're in the shower, Eric," I whisper back, a smile on my lips, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he nips my earlobe roughly.

"Still a smart ass," he groans as his long fingers slip deeper, pressing his forehead to mine as his fingers quicken their pace, "some things never change." My hands slide from his shoulders to his neck, turning his head away, my tongue lapping up the water droplets clinging to his cool skin, before kissing my way across his jaw, finding his lips again.

His hands, his lips, his tongue stroking mine quickly become too much for me to handle, the noises coming from my mouth sounding not at all sounding like my own voice. Breaking away from his lips, I press my face into his shoulder, my eyes squeezed shut tightly, chanting his name over and over again like a prayer.

I can feel his lips on my neck again, and my eyes snap open, not able to focus my vision on any one thing in my haze. I can feel it, I'm almost there, the entire world falling away, the trouble we're in, my curse; everything disappearing under his skillful touch.

"Eric, I…" I moan, my head falling back against the cool tile of the wall.

His lips are at my ear again as he breathes in his deep voice, seconds before his fingers crook inside me, his thumb stroking me just so, "Come for me, min kärlek."

And I do. Screaming his name, my back arching away from the wall, pressing my body into him, the world shatters around me as his fangs scrape my throat, the pain mixing with the pleasure he's bringing me, enhancing it. His fingers slow their ministrations as he brings me back from the edge, slowly lowering me to my feet on shaking legs, his arm still around me for support.

His hand rises to his mouth, and I watch as he licks his fingers clean, his eyes fluttering closed as he moans, "You taste so fucking good."

Feeling more brave than I've felt all along, my hand slides down his chiseled stomach, the backs of my fingers first brushing his length before I turn my wrist, wrapping my hand tightly around him.

His eyes pop open, blazing down at me, and I smile as I stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in my hand. "And how do you taste?" He groans at my question, his eyes widening as I slowly sink to my knees on the floor of the shower, my eyes trained on what is in front of me. Impressive, to say the least.

He had been naked in front of me earlier in the evening, but I had been too caught up in the moment to take a good look. Unconsciously, I lick my lips, my eyes flickering back up to his as he stares down at me, the look in his eyes making me shiver.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. "Pamela, you don't have to…"

He didn't get any further than that. I lean forward, my tongue darting out to lick his tip, smiling as his head falls back with a hiss. My hand never stopping its movements, I lean in again, swirling my tongue around his head, collecting the moisture that had gathered there, licking my lips again as I pull away to look up at him.

"_You _taste so fucking good."

"_Fuck_, Pam, you're going to make me-"

His words die on his lips as I pitch myself forward, bracing myself with one hand on his muscular thigh, taking as much of him into my mouth as I can, my tongue tasting the velvety skin, so soft yet hard at the same time. His hand is suddenly wrapped in my hair, his fingers from his other hand caressing my jaw as I work him, not pushing me, just as if he needs more contact.

My hand, still wrapped around the base of his hardness, pumps in time with my mouth, his sighs and groans spurring me onward, driven to return the favor, driven to taste him as he had tasted me earlier in the evening.

I can feel his muscles trembling under my hand that still rests on his thigh as his hand tightens in my hair, pulling me deeper onto his length, my tongue lapping at him on every backstroke. I sneak a glance up at him, meeting his wide eyes as he watches me, like blue flames as they burn into mine, his fingers slipping from my jaw to trace my lips, wanting to feel as well as see his erection disappearing inside my mouth.

Never breaking eye contact with me, he groans, "Pamela, I'm-"

He doesn't get to finish his statement, his groan morphing into a deep, animalistic growl as I release my grip on him, letting him take control as he thrusts himself completely into my mouth; once, twice, three times more, until he spills himself inside of me with a roar.

I rock back on my knees, panting; a stupid, proud grin on my face for a moment before he yanks me to my feet by his hand fisted in my hair, suddenly finding myself pressed into the tiles of the shower yet again by his lean body.

"Wicked woman," he snarls, before he descends on me, his fangs slicing my lips as he kisses me hard. His tongue laps at the wounds before diving into my mouth, pulling my head back roughly by my hair before he tears himself away from my lips; his chest heaving, unnecessarily, since he doesn't need to breathe.

"I want to fuck you, Pamela," he growls, the choppy, motoring sound reverberating from his chest into mine.

I shiver, unsure if it's from his choice of words, his rough voice, or the ice-cold water pouring over us from the showerhead. Just as I start to beg him to do just that, a drop of blood runs from his nose, pooling just above his perfect lips. I reach up, swiping it away as I did when he first joined me in the shower, frowning when I notice it coming from his ears as well.

"You're bleeding, Eric."

He snarls at me again, baring his fangs at me as if it's my fault. "The sun is up. I need to rest. But…"

He presses further into me, and I look down in amusement as I feel his length, hard and ready again, pushing into my belly. "Tomorrow?"

"I cannot wait until then," he whispers, and if it were any other man, I'd say he was whining.

"I'm sure you'll live. Or…well. You know."

He laughs, breaking the intensity of his mood, causing me to giggle. He smiles softly at the sound, his fingers releasing my hair to trace my lips; his eyebrows furrowing when I shiver again, eyes flickering up to the source of the freezing water raining down on us.

"I suppose you're cold?" he asks, snorting when I nod. "I seem to forget about the human thing," he adds as pulls me against him, pressing his lips to mine before he whispers darkly, "except when this _warm _mouth is wrapped around my-"

"Eric!" I squeak, slapping his chest. He laughs again, before he steps away, under the cold water. I can't help but watch as he showers quickly under that icy water, his movements too fast for my eyes to follow. In seconds, it seems, he's clean; the blood from the vampire intruder swirling down the drain as he shuts the water off, turning back to me.

"That must come in handy," I say, referring to the fact that he just washed his hair and his entire body, _all _of that body, in about half a minute.

"For me, yes. You still manage to take hours to get ready somehow."

I roll my eyes as he steps out of the shower, quickly toweling off with one of the fluffy white towels he plucked off the rack beside him, before he grabs another one, setting to work drying off every square inch of me.

He pulls down the robe hanging on a hook nearby and holds it out, looking at me expectantly. Stepping out of the shower, I thread my arms through the sleeves, smiling to myself as he spins me around, wrapping it tightly around me.

"Warm up, min princessa. That's one thing I can't help you with." With a gentle shove, he pushes me to the sink before he strides out of the bathroom. After looking around, I find what must be my toothbrush (pink, surprise) and the toothpaste, making quick work of that task, exhaustion slowly taking it's hold on me.

It had been a long day, and an even longer night.

As I step out of the bathroom, he's walking back in, his towel holding on for dear life around his waist. "Godric says to tell you goodnight."

"Goodnight, Godric," I say absently as I shuffle towards the bed, knowing that with his vampire hearing he can probably hear me, along with everything else that just went on. I pull back the thick, fluffy, extremely _pink_ comforter on the bed, before shedding the robe, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Climbing in, I pull the blankets back over me, before I notice Eric's still standing there, staring at the bed in what can only be described as disgust.

"What's wrong?"

He shakes himself, walking to the other side, mirroring my earlier actions as he pulls back the covers, sliding his endlessly long legs under them. "Nothing. Real men wear pink, you always say."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he lays down, seemingly swallowed up by the pink sheets and blankets surrounding him. He looks ridiculous.

"Don't you dare say a fucking word, or I'll go rest with Godric." He grins as I pout, reaching over to grab me, pulling my entire body on top of him. My face automatically nestles in his neck as his strong arms wrap around me, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. "You're so warm. Like a Pam blanket."

"You're so cold. Like an Eric ice cube."

He snorts, burying his nose in my wet hair, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath. "Godric is going to New Orleans tomorrow to meet with his witch acquaintance, he says."

"Oh?" I ask sleepily, unable to hold my eyes open.

"Yes, 'oh'," he repeats back, his own voice sounding different, more husky, no doubt about to succumb to his own sleep. "He leaves at sunset. And he's taking Jason."

"Oh?" I ask again, burying my face further into his neck, pressing one last kiss against his skin.

"Yes, 'oh', my eloquent child," he says with a chuckle, his arms tightening around me. "Finally free of Godric and his constant, ill-timed, interruptions. Whatever shall we do?"

I manage a shrug. "Play chess?"

"I think not, my dear," he murmurs, turning his head so his lips are at my ear. The last thing I hear before I drift off to a dreamless sleep is his deep voice, barely a growled whisper in the dark room, "Tomorrow night, min kärlek, I make you _mine _again."

* * *

**A/N: Wha-oh. Hope everything actually works out for the babies this time. Grandaddy Cockblock is going out of town. You like lemonfluff? Then be a doll, and review, or you get nothing but angst and tears next chapter. Ha. (Speaking of angst and tears, did you see my new supposed to be one, turned out to be two-shot I recently added? *points to homepage* Check it out. Until next time, lovelies.**

**Swedish translations:**

**min älskade - my beloved**

**min söta - my sweet**

**Stäng dina ögon - Close your eyes**

**sötnos - baby, sweetie**

**min kärlek - my love**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Welp. That's about all I have to say, here. Welp. Rated M for a reason, children.**

* * *

I could smell it before I even opened my eyes. The sun.

Its setting allows my body to flood with life, becoming instantly aware of my surroundings. The crackling of electricity through the wiring of the house. The ticking of a watch somewhere in the room, no doubt stashed in one of a thousand of her jewelry boxes. The soft hum of a television playing somewhere downstairs. And the blood coursing through the veins of the human girl sleeping peacefully in my arms.

I had rested with Pamela thousands of times over the years, but never like this. Never in my millennia walking this earth had I died for the day, my one true vulnerability, with a human nearby. Much less with one lying on top of me, curled around me; wrapped in the safety of my embrace.

She's like an assault on my senses; always has been, since the moment I laid eyes on her on that darkened street in London, and every night in between. In some ways even more so in her human form, a version of her I only got to enjoy for a few brief hours before I took her life and gave her a new one, made her mine. I can feel her heartbeat fluttering away steadily against my chest, her warm breath on my collarbone. The smell of sunlight clinging to her skin, to her hair, letting me know without a doubt that although she's in almost the exact position she was in when I died for the day, she had been up, and apparently outside.

My first instinct is anger that she left me, that she put herself in danger when I couldn't come to her rescue if need be, but a soft sigh escaping her parted lips as she nestles in closer proves a timely distraction. Still not yet opening my eyes, I turn my head, my lips brushing her hair, inhaling the scent of the one thing I allow myself to miss, to long for, since I became what I am.

All in all, I'm glad she got to see it, feel the warmth on her skin for the first time in over a century. A little jealous of it, in fact. There's no way I can explain to her, without her memories, the gift she's been given amid this curse. That, before I turn her again, she got to eat and drink and, from all outward appearances, lie in the sunshine. To be warm, to feel her heart beat.

I wonder if she'll miss it? Her humanity?_ Will I?_

I suppose that will all depend on how things go when she regains her memories. Rather she'll still want me like she does now. Her rejection, though, is a risk I've decided I must take, if nothing else but to be able to enjoy her now, for as long as she'll allow me.

Slowly opening my eyes, I turn her, gently as not to wake her just yet, to lay beside me; smiling softly when she moans in her sleep, grasping at me until she settles back down against me. I can't help but study her, pushing back the few blonde locks tumbling in front of her face from the ponytail she has her hair pulled back in. Her peaceful expression faltering every so often as she dreams; watching, completely enchanted, as her breathing changes minutely, her eyelashes fluttering, her nose scrunching up, before she relaxes again.

Reaching out carefully, I run my fingertip down her cheek then along the line of her cheekbone, before running down her slightly upturned nose, down to trace the curve of her full, pouty lips, then across the line of her jaw; an unneeded breath catching in my throat.

_She's so fucking beautiful_.

And she knows it, of course. Or her former self did; this version of her is shy, reserved, modest. But before this happened, even though she knew it, she never tired of hearing it, especially from me. It was what first drew me to her before I knew her, after all; her being a complete stranger, just an overly brave, breathtakingly beautiful girl, alone in a place she shouldn't have been. I wanted her with every fiber of my being the second I laid eyes on her, all my instincts telling me just to take her, no questions, no small talk. But somehow I knew she was worthy of a choice, a choice that I gave her; a chance that she took without a second thought.

And me? I had no idea what was about to hit me.

Pamela was like a force of nature. From her first night and every night since, she captivated me, irritated me to no end, treated me like a king and kept me grounded, all at the same time. She gives me more respect than I deserve in one breath, and sasses me like an out of control teenager in the next. Fought viciously at my side, ripping humans and vampires alike apart with fangs and bare hands; those same hands that would later turn gentle in our bed, her barbed tongue put away, as she let her guard down with me and only me.

And to know I'm the only one that has ever seen, ever had, that side of her. The soft side, without the façade our kind adopts to ensure our survival. The one that would whisper sweet things to me in the dark. The one who's soft touch I have craved every night for well over a century. The one that still climbs in my lap and sobs like a baby during every sad children's movie she ever forced me to sit through.

And I loved her, whichever version of Pamela I was getting, every night for over a hundred years. The vicious Pamela, an attack dog I trained myself; the strongest, fiercest, most bloodthirsty woman I've ever known. Or the darling Pamela, who, even after our sexual relationship ended, would climb in my bed and beg me to tell her stories of my life before her, or of my human life, as she lay nestled against my chest, her fingernails dancing over my skin while she listened intently. To this current version of her; soft, breakable, human Pamela, wide-eyed and wide open, a blank slate; but still so irrefutably my Pam, even without her memories.

I loved her. I still love her._ I love her_. And not for the first time, fear cuts through me at the thought of losing her, losing this, once she regains her memories. An ancient killer, who has fought wars, seen civilizations rise and fall, all but crippled by his fear of rejection. Preposterous, if it wasn't for the subject of that fear, lying against me, holding my heart in her tiny palm even as she sleeps, unknowing. I've got a lot to lose. _Everything_ to lose. And for a creature that thrives on change, picking up the pieces and moving on when change comes, I have no idea how I would be able to pick up the pieces this time. How I would move on if this, this thing, between us is just temporary. A gift freely given and then cruelly ripped away.

I love her, but I cannot let myself say the words to her. I can't let myself be that vulnerable, even to her, not this time. If I tell her, and once she is whole again, she rejects me, it's the only way I can pretend this was nothing more than lust. I've always put her first, ever since the night she rose as my progeny, and this is no different. If she wishes to go back to the way things were, I will not stand in her way. I won't allow her to pity me, or to be mine purely out of obligation.

She can't know how much this means to me. When the time comes, and things go back to normal, I will suffer in silence. _"Every man has his secrets,"_ Godric used to say, and this will be my own.

I realize I have been staring at her lips, lost in thought, and I shake myself, my gaze travelling up to see two huge blue eyes watching me curiously.

"Hi," she whispers, the ghost of smile curving those full, soft lips.

"Hello," I whisper back, attempting to school my features.

"What's wrong?" she asks, reaching out to brush my cheek, the pads of her fingers soft against my skin.

Ignoring her question, I lean down, kissing her softly, gathering her small body closer against mine as my tongue sweeps across her lips, tasting her; the sunshine, something sweet she's eaten. Pulling back, I reach up trace her lips as I say with a small smile, "You smell like sunshine." She nods, leaning in to kiss me again, deeper this time, her hands cradling my face. After a long moment, I lean back enough to speak. "And you taste heavenly."

"Watermelon."

My face screws up in confusion as I pull her back on top of me, her warmth seeping into my skin. "Waterwhat?"

She shrugs as she settles against me, her face nestling in the crook of my neck again, just like it was when I first rose. Her voice is muffled by my skin when she speaks, "I was starving, and there was fruit in the refrigerator. Watermelon." She sits up suddenly, cocking her head to the side as she looks down at me. "Why did I have human food here?"

"I…huh?" I reply stupidly, my eyes glued on her body, which is clad in the sorriest excuse for a bathing suit in history. I'm surprised I didn't notice it before. A few square inches of fabric here and there, just enough to barely cover her full breasts, with little strings tying it all together, holding on for dear life. I reach up, tracing the line of the pink-and-white polka dotted fabric on the outside of her breast, before curling my finger underneath it, the back of my finger just barely grazing her nipple, pulling a tiny sigh from her lips. Continuing my path to the middle of her chest where the two minute triangles are joined together, I ask, my eyes still locked on her body, "What's this?"

"A bikini, Eric," she answers, rolling her blue eyes. "Duh."

I can't help but snort at how much she sounds like _my _Pamela, my eternal smart ass. "Did you wear this outside?" I question.

"Yes," she breathes, her heart rate rising as my thumb brushes her nipple again, this time through the fabric.

"You should not have gone out alone, Pamela," I chide softly, studying the way her nipples pebble and harden underneath her bikini top in response to my touch. "The queen has daywalkers at her disposal."

"Godric was awake," she responds before adding, "Why doesn't he sleep?"

"He's old enough to only require an hour or two of rest. And Godric would have been as useless to you in the sunshine as I would have been," I admonish, my tone still soft. "Even more so, at his age."

"Jason's downstairs," she comments offhand, although her focus, too, is on my touch.

My hands still as my eyes snap up to hers, a growl rumbling through my chest, jealousy ripping through me once again. "Stackhouse saw you in _this_?"

She frowns, pulling my hand from her chest up to her lips, kissing my palm. "_Jason_ is more dead to the world than you were. Godric told me he would wake up if I needed him." My hand slips from her grasp, my fingertips trailing down her throat, still so unused to feeling her pulse thrumming away under her skin. "It was mean of you both to do that to him."

My lips quirk up into a grin. "Mean?"

"Yes. Mean," she says, as she attempts to glare at me, my wandering hands making their way back to her breasts making that difficult.

"When did I ever claim to be nice?" I purr, as my hands slide lower, running over the soft skin over her taunt stomach.

She smiles as her eyes flutter closed, as she whispers, "You're nice to me."

"I do not want to fuck Jason Stackhouse," I answer matter-of-factly.

She giggles as she opens her eyes, leaning down to look me square in the eye. Bold; such a contrast to the terrified creature she was after I first found her.

"And I suppose you want to fuck me?"

Grinning lasciviously, I answer, "Indeed, I do. And I will."

Returning my smile with an impish one of her own, she sits upright again, shrugging one bare shoulder. "Godric will just interrupt us again."

"Godric is leaving," I answer, my hands coming up to rest on her tiny waist. "He's downstairs talking to Jason right now."

"Oh," she breathes, her eyes widening.

"Oh," I repeat, my fingers toying with the pink ties of her bikini bottom resting on her hips. For a moment, we silently regard each other, before my curiosity gets the better of me. "What else did you do today besides basking in the sunlight and eating a watery melon?"

She smiles at me, the indulgent smile you give someone with a low I.Q. "Watermelon, Eric. And I didn't eat the whole thing." She stills suddenly, looking down at me with an odd expression, before she whispers, "I'll be right back."

I growl softly as she climbs off of me, not wanting her to go, but it dies in my throat seeing her walk away in that tiny bikini. She walks over to the dresser, opening the top drawer, moving an obscene amount of lingerie out of the way before she produces a shoebox. Hugging it to her chest, she walks back to the bed, sitting cross-legged on it beside me, lying the box gingerly down between us.

"I've seen all your shoes, Pamela. You always show off what you blow my money on." But even as I say it, I know it's not shoes. The box is old, and worn, coming apart around the edges.

"It's not shoes, Eric," she says softly, as she pulls off the lid, the smell of old parchment and ink filling my nose, causing me to freeze. Certainly, she couldn't have…

She starts pulling them out. Letter after letter, stacks and stacks of them. I smell her tears before I look up to see them beginning to roll down her face as she pauses, running her fingers across the top of one of the stacks of papers, before she pulls out several flowers, pressed and dried in thin frames, and then a sachet of rose petals, carefully laying them down on the bed beside of me. I can feel her eyes on me, penetrating me.

All I can do is stare.

She kept _everything._

Still not able to meet her questioning eyes, I reach out with shaking hands, pulling a small, folded piece of paper off the top of one of the stacks. Frayed and yellowed around the edges, I recognize it immediately. I don't even bother to open it, fully aware of what it says even though I wrote the words well over a hundred years before. I lift it up to my nose, inhaling deeply the fresh scents lingering on it. Pam's hands, and her tears. Both her human tears from today, and underneath that, the scent of her vampire tears.

My Pamela. My child. My _baby._

My eyes snap shut as my head sinks down into the pillow, reeling, trying to make sense of this. That she has kept seemingly every letter, every note I have ever written her, kept them close to her, is mindboggling enough. But her tears, so recently? Weeping as she read my words, before she was cursed, before she lost her memories? What does this mean?

"What does that one say, Eric?"

Pam's soft voice breaks into my thoughts, and without opening my eyes, I answer her, my voice hoarse even to my own ears as I translate the Swedish I know to be written on the note still clutched in my hand. "You were made perfectly to be loved, and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long."

"Some of them are in English," she states, her voice small.

My eyes open to find her staring at me, tears slowly leaking from her eyes, her chin trembling. "Please don't cry, min älskling. Please."

"These are beautiful, Eric."

I open my mouth, before closing it again, completely unsure of what to say, the knowledge that Pamela would have kept, not a few, but seemingly everything I had given her, dragging them around with her from place to place and still pouring over them to this day, has left me mindfucked. "They were from a long time ago, min söta."

She shakes her head, beginning to put the letters and flowers back in the box carefully, her voice tight, "Not all of them. Some weren't that old at all."

Unable to argue with her, I say nothing. I know some of them can't be more than twenty or thirty years old, and they begin with the one I just translated for her, the one I wrote for her and placed in her hand while she was sleeping the morning after her first night as a vampire. With the thought, I'm all but transported back in time to that night she woke, her second night as my child. When after we were done taking our fill of one another, we laid in bed, our bodies still twined, as I gave her her first lesson in my language, teaching her to say the words I had written, their meaning.

"We were in love," she whispers, drawing my attention back to her as she closes the lid on the box, placing it gingerly on the table beside the bed.

"We were," comes my choked reply, stopping myself just short of adding, 'I still am.' "Very much so."

She reaches for me, and then stops, as if she's afraid to. "I don't understand, Eric, I don't understand what happened."

I swallow thickly, looking away as I whisper, "Neither do I, min kärlek. We will get your memories back, and perhaps…" I trail off, the pain at the thought taking me by surprise. "Perhaps then, you can tell us both why."

"I don't want them," she says suddenly, crawling towards me across the pink sheets. I open my arms for her automatically, hugging her to me, pulling her back into to her previous position, splayed across my chest. "I just want to be with you."

I'm silent for long enough that she finally raises her head to look at me, her beautiful blue eyes shining with her tears. Smiling sadly, all too aware of what I have to lose, I reach out to run the backs of my fingers down her cheek as I whisper, "No matter what happens when you regain your memories, darling, you'll always be with me. Always be mine. _Always_."

Never breaking contact with her eyes, I reach behind her, pulling the band out of her hair, letting the curls fall loose from her ponytail. My fingers wind their way into her blonde locks, pulling her lips to mine as I kiss her softly, tasting the salt from her tears on her swollen lips.

Slowly rolling her over until she lies beneath me, I kiss both her cheeks, before pressing my lips to her eyelids once her eyes flutter closed. "No more tears, baby," I whisper, "No more of that. Not tonight."

She nods slowly, her fingers tentatively running up my bare back. "Not tonight," she echoes.

"Those flowers," I whisper as my lips make their way down her neck, "The red rose, I gave you the night you awoke as my progeny." My lips travel lower, pressing kisses onto her collarbone as I reach up to untie the bow that the wispy string from her bikini is tied into behind her neck. "The petals, min princessa, are from the rose I've given you every year since on the anniversary of that night. I've never forgotten, not one time."

She laughs softly as she raises her head off the pillow, allowing me to pull the strings loose from around her neck. "Proud of ourselves, are we?"

I pause to look up at her. "Very. You would kill me if I ever forgot." Lowering my lips to her chest, I slowly pull away her top, kissing every inch of skin I expose along the way. She allows me to sit her up just enough to untie the string wrapped around her back, before I gently lay her back down, my eyes flickering up to hers. "You kept everything, Pamela. I had no idea. I don't know why…"

"Because I love you, Eric," she says quietly, her eyes locked on mine. "I can't remember the details, but I kept them because I love you."

Feeling suddenly lost, I lower my head again to avoid her gaze, pulling away the tiny scraps that make up her bikini top, tossing it carelessly to the floor beside the bed. My eyes take in hungrily the sight before me, unconsciously licking my lips.

Lifting my finger, I trace the soft line on the outside of her breast, the contrast where the bikini kept the sun from kissing her milky skin. "This is new," I say softly, before leaning down, my lips following the path of my finger, before switching to her other breast to do the same, my nose blazing a path over her skin, my lips following soon after.

"I can smell it," I groan, the scent of the sun filling my senses. Having made my way to the middle of her chest, I pause to drag my tongue slowly up her breastbone, enjoying the taste of the sun clinging to her skin, laced with the sweetness that is simply my Pamela. "I can taste it, the sun." My large hand cups her breast, my fingers finally caressing her nipple, knowing that's where she wants my lips. Lowering my head to her other breast, my fingers never stopping their slow caresses, I pull her nipple into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the rosy bud, smiling against it as she moans, her back arching off the bed.

As I kiss my way across her chest to give her other breast the same attention, she reaches between us, wrapping her hand around my length, causing my fangs to snap down. I had been painfully hard since I rose, and her touch, her warmth, threatens to undo me. Pressing my forehead against her chest, I groan as she begins to stroke me slowly, trying to collect myself.

Hoping to distract her from her ministrations before she embarrasses me, I pull her nipple in my mouth again, my fangs barely pricking her skin. She cries out, luckily letting go of me before I lost control, her fingers sinking into my hair, holding my head to her breast as I taste her sweet blood.

After a moment, I pull away to look at her as I lick her blood from my lips, my large hands cupping her breasts, pushing them together. I lower my mouth once again, teasing first one nipple with my tongue, then the other, speaking in between caresses.

"I could spend all night worshiping your breasts alone, Pamela," I say, my voice hoarse, "And I have, many times." Pausing, I dip my head again, unable to go without the sweetness of her skin for more than a moment, it seems. "Many nights, I've made you come, just like this."

"Eric, I-" she gasps, but I shake my head.

"Oh, no you don't. Not yet," I growl, releasing her. Raising myself up on my elbows over her, I lean down to capture her lips, kissing her softly despite my overwhelming need for her. Pulling away, I grin as she grasps at my hair, attempting to yank me back.

"Kiss me, Eric," she whines.

"I plan to, my darling. _Everywhere._"

Diving down to her lips once again, I kiss her hard, both of us moaning as she wraps her arms around me, pulling us chest to chest. One of my hands cups the back of her neck, pulling her lips into mine, my other hand drifting down between us, sliding into the bottoms of her bathing suit as our lips move together, tongues tasting, teasing.

My wandering fingers delve into her folds, groaning at the slick heat they find there as I softly caress her nub, smiling against her lips as she moans, her lips becoming more insistent against mine, her tongue stroking my fangs. Breaking away from her lips, reluctantly, but intent on making good on my promise, I kiss down her neck, my lips and tongue finding the throbbing vein in her neck, following it down to kiss her collarbone, to the warm space between her breasts, her ribs, down to her stomach, as my body slides down the bed over hers.

My tongue laves at her navel as I lean on one elbow, settling between her legs, my eyes glued to hers as my fingers leave her warmth to slowly untie the strings holding the bottom of her bathing suit together. Both of us are silent as I pull it free from her body and toss it away, baring her to me completely. Pushing her long legs apart gently, I lean down, drawing in a sharp breath, growling at the scent of her arousal.

"Pamela," I whisper, my eyes finding hers again as my fingers softly touch her where I so badly want to taste her. "So ready for me, already…"

"I want you, Eric," she whispers back, "Please—"

Her plea morphs into a strangled groan as I descend on her folds, glistening with her wetness. My tongue dives into her opening before dragging up to her nub, my mouth closing over her sensitive flesh, kissing and sucking, my tongue flicking against her just the way I remember, after thousands of nights spent together, she likes best.

"_Eric_," she moans, my name on her lips making my cock throb so painfully I feel like I might explode, "So good, please, don't stop…"

Growling against her, I hook my hands under her hips, pulling her center impossibly closer to me as I throw her legs over my shoulders. My fingers finally join my mouth, first sliding deep inside of her, setting a slow, sensual rhythm; feeling her warm, tight flesh give way under my attentions, preparing her to take me, all of me.

I can feel her getting close in my blood, and her sweetness is coating my fingers as I remove them from within her, smirking at her cry of frustration. I set to work stroking her clit with my thumb as my tongue explores her core, her cries and moans increasing by the second as my tongue dives inside her, tasting her, over and over again, her hands clutching fitfully at my hair as her thighs tremble against my cheeks, the blood gushing through her femoral arteries almost deafening to my ears.

The second before she falls over the edge, I pull away, her inhuman cries of horror at my cruelty making me chuckle as I climb over her body, pulling her shaking form against me. Leaning down, I capture her lips, and with one smooth stroke, I'm inside her for the first time in decades.

She screams incoherently, her nails digging into my back as she falls apart, her muscles tightening around me as the orgasm I had denied her rips through her tiny body. Meanwhile, my face is buried in her neck, my lips against her skin, as I try to decide if I've died and gone to heaven or hell.

She's so _perfect_. Her body molded to fit me as if we were made for each other, puzzle pieces born almost nine hundred apart. The warmth surrounding me reminding me, surprisingly enough not of the fact that she's human again, not herself; but of the first time we made love. The first time she begged for me, knowing what I was, what I was going to do. The first time she wanted to be mine.

And now, without her memories, she's begged for me again. Begged to be mine, to belong to me. As I've belonged to her, fully, since the first time I laid eyes on her.

I feel her hands on my cheeks, and I let her pull my face from her neck and up to hers, meeting her eyes. Reaching up, I comb the hair back from her face with my fingers as I gaze down at her, her eyes holding so much love and adoration it makes me want to look away. But I don't. I don't because I suddenly realize, this is one thing that _hasn't _changed. It's the same way she's always looked at me. From all those years we shared a bed, even to the past few years, when I'd catch her watching me from across our club.

I still do not know or understand what has changed, but I do know one thing for certain, now. I was kidding myself when I thought I could let her go. Pretend this meant nothing to me, if it came to it.

There will be no going back.

"Hey," she whispers, her own fingers pushing my hair back from where it hangs over my eyes, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say hoarsely as I lower my lips to hers, "Nothing is wrong, min princessa."

Her fingers slide from my hair down to my shoulders as our lips meet, her legs tangling with mine as I finally move, pulling out of her slowly, only to bury myself within her again, my eyes squeezing shut as I'm overwhelmed by her. The tightness and warmth surrounding me, her skin pressed against mine, her lips and tongue tangling with my own, my _need_. Need for her body, for her love. To hear my name on her lips again.

Her hands continue to trail down my body, coming to rest on the back of my thighs pulling me against her, urging me onward as she whispers against my lips, "Eric, please…"

Nodding against her lips, I begin to move. Slowly at first, both of us gasping at the sensations, her body taking me so completely as I push in, only to grasp at me as I pull out, as if it doesn't want me to go. The pace I set is slow, leaning down from her lips to kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest, relishing in her moans as I give her breasts the attention they're begging for.

My hand reaches down to grasp her thigh, pulling it up higher over my lower back, letting me dive in deeper. Rising up on my elbows above her, my hands cradling her face; I watch her, mesmerized at the pleasure and emotions I can feel coursing through her blood inside of me playing out across her features.

"Beautiful," I whisper as I pick up my pace, pulling a moan from her lips, "Du är den vackraste jag någonsin sett." I lean down, dragging my fangs harmlessly up the column of her neck as my movements change, feeling both of us beginning to lose control.

Groaning against the skin beneath her ear as I thrust myself deeply inside of her, diving into her warmth again and again as her arms tighten around me, her back arching off the bed, bringing her closer, the sweetest sounds I've ever heard coming from her parted lips, driving me to the edge.

Swiftly gathering her up against me, I sit up suddenly, my arms still wrapped tightly around her, her little body still impaled on my length. My hand wraps around the back of her neck as she rolls her head back, burying my face in the crook of her shoulder as I resume my movements, thrusting up into her, impossibly deeper.

"Eric," she moans, causing me to look up at her, the look in her hooded eyes making an unneeded breath catch in my throat, the love I can feel coming from her making my unbeating heart swell in my chest.

"Pamela," I growl as my movements quicken, become more jerky, "Say it. Please, Pamela. Say it."

"I…" she begins, her eyes closing as I feel her walls begin to tighten around me, "I…"

"Open your eyes, min vacker sötnos. I need to see you," I snarl, pulling her down onto me harder as I buck my hips up into hers, "Say it, Pamela. Tell me you love me."

Her eyes open wide, her hands finding my face as she whispers, "I do, Eric. I love you. I love you. And I…" Her words trail off into a strangled groan as I grip her hips, grinding her down hard on my length.

"You what?" I demand, one hand sliding up her back to grip her hair, pulling her head back, exposing that throbbing vein to my hungry eyes. "Answer me, liten flicka. You what?"

"I'm yours, Eric," she moans, her hands gripping my neck. "Yours."

"_Mine_," I snarl, baring my fangs at her, groaning as her thumb finds them, the soft strokes sending pleasure barreling through me. "Drink from me, Pamela. I need to feel you, kärlek. I need…" I trail off, moaning out my next word, "Please."

"Yes," she hisses, and in a flash of movement I've unseated her, flipping her easily around onto her hands and knees. Thrusting into her again roughly, banding an arm around her chest to pull her up against me, I raise my wrist, tearing into my skin viciously. Reaching around her, I offer it to her as my blood pours from the wound.

She grips my wrist with both of her small hands, and the second I feel her lips on my skin, her first draw of my blood, I begin to lose myself, spiraling out of control. I can feel my blood enter her, and being buried inside her to the hilt, it's like nothing I've ever experienced in a thousand years walking this earth.

Licking up her exposed shoulder, the hand holding her body to mine slips down, diving into her folds as she drinks from me. My fangs sink into her neck, drawing in my first mouthful of her sweet, warm blood at the same moment my fingers find her nub. Her orgasm rips through her almost the second I touch her, burning white hot through our newly strengthened bond as she comes, losing her grip on my wrist as she calls out my name, everything at once pushing me over the edge as I spill myself inside her, my growl echoing in the silent room around us.

Gasping, she goes limp in my arms as I hold her against me, still stroking slowly within her, bringing us both through the aftershocks rippling through us. I dip my head to lick her wounds closed, gathering up every last drop of her blood, not wanting any to go to waste.

Slowly, carefully, I lay us down, her back still pressed to my chest. Still buried deep inside her, refusing to pull out, to leave that sweet warmth just yet.

A deep, contented purr fills the room, and it takes me longer than it should to realize it's coming from me. My lips find her neck, kissing my way down to her shoulder as she catches her breath. Finally, after a moment, she rolls her head to look at me.

"That was amazing," she whispers, her head rolling back to lay against the pillow as if it's too much trouble to hold it up. Her fingers interlace with mine, wrapped around her tiny waist. "Eric, our blood…"

"I know, min kärlek," I breathe in her ear. "One more time, and you'll be able to feel me, too." I'm silent for a moment, listening to her heartbeat as it begins to stop pounding before I add quietly, "Is that still…do you want that?"

"Yes," she whispers, "More than anything."

I nod, placing soft kisses along her shoulder, as we lapse into silence again. Both of us, I think, overwhelmed. She can't remember, she doesn't know, how intense it _always _was between us. It was always like this. Moreso, even, when we were bonded as maker and child. Mindbending, mindnumbing. So easy to get lost in each other, lost in our bond and our bodies for nights at a time. There's no way for me to explain to her what that felt like. Two separate beings, bonded together so tightly, so deeply, that when our bodies joined, we were like one instead of two. No way to tell where she stopped and I began.

"I love you, Eric," comes her tiny whisper, breaking into my thoughts.

My arms tighten around her, my length still so deep inside her. Still so close to what we were before, even not fully bonded. Perhaps it's not the blood at all. Perhaps it's just us, meant to be this way. Wrapped in each other, taking refuge in each other. Either way, I realize just how right I was before.

For me, from this, there will be no going back. No return. If she doesn't want this when her memories are back, it will break me. And there will be no putting myself back together. But for this, for her, it's a chance I'll have to take. If I were ever to take a chance on _anything_, it would be on this. On us.

My lips lower to her ear, as I whisper the words I'm afraid to say. A thousand year old vampire, terrified, of three little words he knows he can't take back.

"I love you, Pamela. So much more than I can say."

But I realize, seconds after I utter the words that have the power to bring me to my knees, she didn't even hear them. Her breath, her frantic heartbeat, has finally evened out.

My Pamela, my princess, my _everything, _cradled in my arms with her little fingers wound around mine, has fallen fast asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Welp. I know you babies waited a long time for that, I can only hope it was worth it, and I did it justice. Ta for now, lovers.**

**min älskling - my darling**

**min söta - my sweet**

**Du är den vackraste jag någonsin sett. – You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.**

**min vacker sötnos – My beautiful baby**

**liten flicka – Little girl**

**min kärlek – love**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hello, lovelies. This was originally the first half of a pretty epic chapter, but after I reached 7k words I figured y'all would probably rather have something rather than nothing, and I had a pretty good place to break it into two. So, here you go. This baby is slowly winding down, so shit's going to start getting pretty crazy after this. **

**Also, I wanted to point out, this is truly a SVM/TB crossover, although it's labeled as TB only. I've added book themes here and there throughout, such as Pam's last name, her background (English instead of American, and not a madam...mostly because I began writing all this before that was revealed) and her age (closer to 200 years old than the 100 of our beloved TB Pam). Also, when a human is turned, in the books it takes three days for them to rise, although I think it's one in the show. And as far as blood-bonding, I'm taking that from SVM as well. For those of you that haven't read, in the books, a vampire and a human exchange blood three times, the first two times only the vampire can feel the human, and the third, the human can feel the vampire as well, and they're permanently bonded, where as if they stopped before the third bonding the bond would eventually fade away. It ain't that fucktarded shit Alan Ball pulled where you end up frolicking naked in Narnia, just FYI, but even still it was a transcending experience for Tinkerbell.**

**Sorry for the long A/N, I hate those, but it occurred to me some of you probably haven't read the books. Thanks, as always, for your thoughtful reviews, and enjoy.**

* * *

I had fallen into a rather blissful state of suspended animation watching Pamela sleep, my eyes wide and unblinking, but still trained on her; watching over her. When she began to stir, stretching like a cat before nuzzling closer against me, it snapped me back into consciousness immediately.

"Hey," she groans, her voice still thick with sleep, her beautiful eyes still closed, "I fell asleep."

Her stating the obvious, as she _always_ has had a tendency to do, elicits a chuckle from me. Leaning down, I press my lips softly against her forehead as I whisper, "That you did."

"I'm sorry," she says, her apology hindered by her yawn as she rolls slowly onto her back, my attention immediately diverting from her face to her breasts as her shifting about uncovers her, exposing her warm skin to the cool air surrounding us. "I'm just so tired."

"Stop apologizing," I reply distractedly for what seems like the thousandth time in two nights, not yet bothering to look up from her chest. Reaching out to trail my fingers down her bare shoulder, a slow smile starts to creep across my face as I add, "If anything, perhaps _I_ should be sorry for wearing you out."

She snorts, leaning into my touch as my fingertips trace their way back up to her face, feeling the warmth as it floods her cheeks at the reminder of what _exactly_ it was that wore her out. "Now that's something that shouldn't be apologized for," she mutters. For a moment she falls silent with her cheek resting against my palm, so quiet I begin to think she's drifted off to sleep again, before she asks, "What time is it? Where's Godric?"

"Nearly midnight. And Godric has not yet returned."

Her eyes finally pop open to look at me in confusion as she questions, "Midnight? Did I sleep—"

"All day?" I finish for her, smiling at her surprise. "Indeed, you did."

"Well, what the fuck," she breathes, making me laugh loudly. Sometimes, despite it all, she _sounds _like her normal self. "Why didn't you wake me?"

I shrug one shoulder, as best as I can lying on my side. "Why would I? I like watching you sleep."

She flips back over on her side, mirroring my position, her dainty little hands folded underneath her cheek. "Why?"

One corner of my mouth quirks up at her endless questions, reminding me of when she was a new vampire, and I was a new maker who didn't know what the fuck just hit him. I never had any children in my human life, that I knew of anyway, but I imagine it's much the same. She questioned everything I told her, every reason behind everything we did. Never quite outright defying me, but she grilled me on _everything_. Constantly. It was one of the endless number of things that baffled me about her at first. But, it made me love her, respect her. _No one _questioned me, and lived to tell about it, at least. Only her.

Again I shrug, extending a hand to brush a few blonde curls back from her face, my eyes intent on my fingers as I tuck her hair behind her ear. "I like to watch you dream," I answer, "I've only seen you at rest, and vampires do not dream. Although, I admit I've spent quite a bit of time watching you rest over the years. But I like watching you dream. Your face changes," I continue with a smile, my fingers trailing down her neck to her chest, dancing over her heart. "Your heart races." She smiles shyly, her cheeks flooding with color once again as she looks away, piquing my curiosity. "What were you dreaming of this morning, Pamela?"

"I don't…I can't remember," she stutters.

"Don't you?" I ask, as I pull her small body against mine, rolling over so she's beneath me, my weight resting on my elbows. My lips find her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her pulse as I question, "Have you forgotten already that I can feel you, min princessa?"

"No," she whispers, her warm hands rising to trail down my back, "I haven't."

"I can feel it in your blood when you're lying, Pamela," I growl, my fangs descending and scraping harmlessly across her throat.

"Well, your bullshit meter is obviously broken," she deadpans, and I have to lean back to look into her eyes to confirm that her memories haven't abruptly returned, she sounds so much like her normal self.

Seeing nothing out of what has become the ordinary reflected back at me, I return to my previous task, running my nose up the other side of her neck as I speak. "Perhaps it is, but bullshit isn't all I can feel coming from you, my sweet." I smile against her skin as I feel her embarrassment filter through, knowing she's busted, my lips lowering to her ear as I whisper, "Your _need_ woke me from my death, Pamela. So," I murmur, my voice dropping as I nibble at her earlobe, "I'll ask you again, what did you dream of?"

Her hands, formerly busy tracing every contour of my back, still for a moment before she groans unhappily in defeat. "You."

I snicker, delighted to hear it. "Of me?" I purr, "or of us?" My lips begin to trail across her jaw, speaking in between my soft kisses. "Did you dream of fucking me like you fucked me last night, min älskling?" She gasps at my frank words, reverting to her Victorian days with this modesty since losing her memory, only causing my grin to grow. My hips press into hers as she rolls her head to the side, giving way beneath the attentions of my mouth. I feel those long legs of hers wrap around me as I pull back, gripping her jaw to bring her face back to mine, nipping playfully at her lips as I tease her, "You did, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispers with an self-conscious grin, "happy now?" I nod enthusiastically as her nimble fingers trail up my spine before they bury themselves in my hair, pulling my lips down to hers as she kisses me deeply, her tongue tracing carefully along the tips of my fangs.

Although it pleases me to hear that she's dreamed of us, I feel compelled to tell her the truth. "It's just my blood, Pamela," I say softly when she breaks our kiss.

"What about it?" she questions quietly, her lips brushing against the eternal stubble on my chin.

"That is why you dreamt of me."

"No," she says softly, "I don't think it's just the blood."

"Oh?"

"No," she repeats, her tone much more serious than the teasing one I was using. "Nothing about this is _just _the blood, Eric." She pulls back only slightly, just enough for me to see the conviction in her eyes. "I didn't have your blood when I agreed to be yours all those years ago. And I didn't have your blood in me when I came home to you the other night."

Studying her expression in silence for a moment, trying to ignore the clench of my heart at her referring to me as _home_, I retract my fangs with a click, our playful mood gone by the wayside for now. Finally, I speak, choosing my words carefully. "You are correct. On both counts."

"After you found me in my closet that first night? When you hugged me, and promised to fix me?" She stops, watching for recognition on my face, as if I would ever forget _anything_ that's transpired these last few nights, even if I am lucky enough to live another thousand years. Finally I nod, urging her on. "I knew it then. _Home_," she whispers, her fingers trailing down my cheek before she adds, "No blood."

"No blood," I echo her softly, my eyes locked on hers.

"And that same night, when I fell asleep in your arms?" she asks, her hands drifting to run down said arms as she speaks. "I dreamed of you then. No blood."

"No blood," I repeat again, leaning down to capture her lips, unable to resist her and my need to be closer to her, her admissions flooring me. After a moment, I break away, leaning my weight on one elbow to brush the hair back from her face as I query her, "What did you dream, kärlek?"

She swallows, looking away as she answers softly, "When I dreamed of running through the woods, away from those…" She trails off, and I can feel her shudder beneath me as my hand slides down, my fingertips stroking her neck soothingly. Soothing both of us; her bad memory, and me as well, trying to cool the rage that builds within me at the reminder of what she went through, what she _almost_ went through. The only thing that's going to keep me from ripping Sophie-Anne's red head off myself is that, once I restore Pam to her former self, she'll want to do the honors.

"You were there," she whispers, and I look back up from her neck to her face, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"In the woods," she says quietly, "calling me. Not with your voice."

"Is that how you knew to find me that night?" I ask, curious, remembering her chanted words that night when I found her, her robotic voice echoing in my ears, _my heart brought me here._

"I don't remember," she answers softly, her face falling into a frown, "I only remember realizing you were there."

"And then you freaked completely out," I say with a smirk, "And you beat the shit out of me."

She scowls at me, punching my shoulder harder than I would have thought she could manage. "Eric, it's not funny," she reprimands me. "I was terrified."

"I know you were, sweetheart," I say gently, properly chastised, "I have not forgotten. I will never forget." My eyes drop from hers, remembering the fear in her eyes when she saw me. The fear that I chased away, only to see it again when I attacked Stackhouse in front of her. "You've been mine for almost two hundred years, and never have you feared me. Never have I seen fear in your eyes, fear of me, at least."

"Never?" she breathes.

"Never," I repeat, "not when I met you. Not when I showed you what I was. Not when I turned you." I smile softly as I continue, "And over all the years you've spent at my side, no matter how angry you made me, no matter how viciously we fought, never an ounce of fear."

"And now I'm afraid of everything," she whispers dejectedly.

"Not everything," I murmur, my lips finding her neck again, "Not me. I hope."

"No," she agrees, rolling her head to the side to expose more of her neck to me, proving her words even as she says them, as she bears her throat to someone she knows is a killer, to someone she knows can take her life in a heartbeat. "Not you. Not anymore."

"You never have, and never will, have reason to fear me, Pamela," I whisper against her skin, "And as long as I am with you, you should never have reason to fear anything else." Suddenly, I realize how untrue that statement is, how untrue I've made it. The one thing I've ever done right, protecting her, I failed so miserably at I could have lost her. Forever. Pressing my forehead against her neck, I continue, my voice sounding unexpectedly choked, "I will never forgive myself for allowing this to happen to you. _Never._"

"Eric," she starts, "You didn't—"

"I tried to keep you away," I interrupt her, the guilt I've been carrying these past few days suddenly hitting me full-force, "but she—that fucking witch—blocked our bond, and you couldn't feel me, Pam. I wanted to warn you. I…" I trail off, swallowing thickly, silent for a moment while I try to calm myself, my blood both boiling with rage and icy with sorrow. When I finally find my voice again, it's low, the accent of my home thick even to my own ears, braving a glance up at her face as I reach out to touch her cheek, "I am so sorry, min sötnos."

"Eric, no," she repeats, her hands coming up to cradle my face, "please don't—"

"I am your maker, Pamela," I say, swiftly cutting across her words. "Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, I _knew _I was meant to protect you. To keep you safe. And I failed in that. I failed you."

"You didn't fail me, Eric," she whispers, pulling my face down to hers until we're eye to eye, slowly raising her head from its place on her pillow to softly kiss my lips, her blue eyes never breaking their gaze from mine. She pulls away, the warm pads of her thumbs brushing underneath my eyes as her hands still cup my cheeks. "You did _not_ fail me," she reiterates, "you saved me. You saved me all those years ago, and you saved me again after I lost my memories. Where would I be without you? Now _or_ then?"

I look away, not even wanting to entertain the thought. Reaching up, I intertwine my fingers around hers, pulling them away from my face to brush my lips across her knuckles, my words barely audible in her dimly lit bedroom, "Nothing will ever touch you again, Pamela. Nothing will ever hurt you. And I _will_ fix this."

"I know you will," she murmurs, "You'll get her back, Eric."

Her words make me stiffen, knowing _I'm _the one that put that thought there. That _I'm _the one, however unintentionally, that has made her feel like she's not good enough the way she is, memories or not. Vampire or not. "I have her, min älskling," I finally whisper, "You _are_ her."

She shakes her head, her eyes darting away, her sorrow suddenly threatening to swallow me whole. "No, I'm not, Eric. I don't even know who I am."

"Pamela," I respond firmly as I reach up, grasping her chin between my fingertips to force her eyes back to mine, our lips only inches apart, "_My _Pamela. My only progeny. My…" I choke on my words, knotting our fingers together once again before I lower my lips to the back of her hand, swallowing thickly before I attempt to speak again. "You are my _everything_, kärlek. You are _mine_. _That_ is who you are. You _know_ who you are."

"But I don't—" she begins to argue, but I cut smoothly across her protest.

"It doesn't matter," I murmur as I lower my lips to hers once again, before leaning back, stroking her hair away from her face. "I _do _want your memories back. I want you to remember every second of every night we spent together. I want you to remember the way you told me you felt when you first saw me."

My fingers trail down her neck as I continue, my voice soft, "I want you to remember what it felt like the first time I sank my fangs into this lovely throat, what you felt the first time we made love, the last time we made love, and every time in between. I want you to remember our first night together after you rose, and everywhere we went and everything we've done since. Centuries of love between us, Pamela," I whisper, staring down into her wide eyes, "and I want, I _need_, for you to remember. You _will _remember."

My words falter seeing the tears shining in her eyes, but I push on, revealing to her the truth that I've realized. "But until you _do_ remember," I add, leaning down to brush my lips along her jaw, "We will make new memories. You _are_ different, my love. We've both had centuries to perfect the mask we hide behind for survival. But you're the same Pam I've always had." My lips trail past her ear, burying my nose in her hair as I whisper, "You're the Pamela I've had all along, what was hidden underneath that mask. The Pamela that only I have ever been allowed to see."

"I'm not a vampire anymore," she murmurs.

"You're not," I agree, "but you will be. I will make you mine again, just like I did all those years ago. I would turn you every night for a thousand years if I had to, to keep you by my side." Pulling away from her so I can see her face, _needing _her to see the truthfulness of my words in my eyes as I speak, I continue, "I was a goner the second I laid eyes on you, my sweet. I fell head over heels and never looked back. And you were human then, Pamela. Even if this weren't temporary," I whisper, "it wouldn't matter.

"Before I turned you, I told you the same thing Godric told me all those years ago when he sent me out on my own." I can feel the question rising, see it in her eyes even before it reaches her lips, and so I explain, knowing she can't remember, "He told me, and I told you, that the connection a maker and his progeny share is greater than any marriage. Stronger than any bond a human can even begin to fathom.

"You used to make me watch these wretched movies with you, where the humans got married in the end, and lived happily ever after." I grin, delighted to see a small smile curve her full lips, probably at the thought of forcing me to sit through such a thing. "But, I remember the things they say in those ceremonies. For better or worse. Through sickness and health." Lowering my lips to hers, I kiss her softly, lingeringly, before I add, "As long as we both shall live. We are no different, Pamela, you and I. This is the worse. This is the sickness." My smile softens along with my voice as my fingers brush feather-light against her cheek. "You will get through this. _We _will get through this. And we both shall live for a long, long time to come."

"I'm just…" she begins before trailing off, looking away for a moment as she swallows hard. "I'm just afraid, Eric."

I brush away her tears with my thumbs as they spill over. "What are you afraid of?"

"Remembering," she whispers, her blue eyes so full of tears they look like deep, endless pools, "I don't want to remember _anything_ if that means I lose this," she whimpers, "lose you."

I stiffen as she voices what has become my biggest fear, but manage to keep my voice even. "I've told you before, Pamela, no matter what happens next, you will _never _lose me."

"I know," she says softly, "I just don't want things to go back to the way they were before."

"They don't have to, min kärlek," I answer, "You will remember. And we will figure this out. I swear it."

She nods almost imperceptibility, before she whispers, "I want to be what I was again. Who I was."

"You're not that different," I reiterate, lowering my head to her exposed neck. "It's your memories that made you who you were, made you stone-faced, hard-hearted. But behind closed doors, for me, this is who you were, who you _always _were." My lips graze her rapidly beating pulse as I murmur against her skin, "The same girl I turned centuries ago. Sweet. Tender. So innocent and wicked at the same time. You drive me mad, Pamela, since the moment I first saw you, alone in that empty street. You drive me mad in more ways than one," I whisper, flexing my hips into hers to prove my point, smiling against her flesh as she moans. "You always have, and you still do. So different, yet still the same."

"How?" she breathes.

"Your body is warm against mine," I answer softly, "but you've always felt warm to me. Always made _me _feel warm. Your heart beats," I whisper, placing a kiss against her pulse, "but it always has, Pamela. Maybe not in the same way, but our bond was our heartbeat for nearly two hundred years."

"Eric…" she chokes out, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if to keep me near her, as if I would be going anywhere.

She jumps as my fangs run down with a soft snick, slowly dragging them up the column of her throat, both of us groaning as I lick the red lines I left behind, healing the tiny wounds I made with my tongue as I taste her blood. "I miss your blood tasting of me. Of my blood. But _fuck_, Pamela," I moan, "you taste so good, just the way you are."

"Are you hungry?" she whispers quietly, hopefully.

"_Starving," _I whisper back, my hands holding her face gently turning her head away from me, quickly licking up her neck, coaxing her vein to the surface, breathing my words in her ear, "Starving for _you._" Gripping her tighter against me, I open my mouth, slowly sinking my fangs into her throat; her flesh easily giving way, as if welcoming me, begging me to take what is mine.

"Oh, God," she moans, her hands fluttering around for a moment before they land on my neck, then sliding up into my hair, her pleasure from my bite rocketing through me through our bond. Her fists tighten in my short locks, pulling me closer against her neck, her legs tightening around me as she whimpers, "Eric, please…"

I groan against her skin, rising above her on my elbows slightly without disengaging from her neck, feeling the heat of her center as my length slides against her. As I draw in my first mouthful of her sweet blood, I feel her reach between us, her hand wrapping around me. Slowly, I push forward as she guides me, sinking into her little by little until I'm fully sheathed by her warmth.

Gradually, I begin to move, setting a slow pace as I drink from her. Not a quick bite in the throes of passion like last night; this time I let her blood come to me, lapping it away as it wells from the tiny twin punctures. Little sips, enjoying her, savoring her. I didn't lie when I told her she tasted good, if anything, it was an understatement. Her blood is unusually sweet, so clean and pure, unlike what I've become used to consuming from the filthy humans that enter our bar.

Being inside this woman, drinking from her, is the closest to heaven I've ever been or ever will be.

I feel her lips against my palm as my hands cradle her head, her quiet sighs reaching my ears as I take her slowly, reverently. She's the only woman I ever have and ever will be with like this, the only woman I've ever made love to. The only woman I've ever _loved_.

Finally, not wanting to take too much, I lick the wounds closed and pull away, watching as she rolls her head on the pillow to look up at me as I lick her blood from my lips, a tiny yet beautiful smile crossing her features, completely lighting up her face. Her hooded eyes bear so much love, leaving me drowning in it through our bond, causing me to falter before I still completely, buried deeply inside her.

Combing her hair back from her face, I lean down, kissing her softly, deeply, pulling a moan from both our lips. As I pull away, the words spill from my lips without thought or consequence.

"I love you, Pamela, min söta sötnos. _All_ of you," I whisper, lowering to kiss her cheeks, then her neck, down to her chest, my breath fanning against her skin, "Human or vampire, memories or no memories, I love you. I always have, and I always will."

"Eric," she moans, her legs tightening around me as my lips travel farther down, my tongue swirling around her nipple, my hips beginning to move again, slowly stroking within her.

"You are everything," I rasp as I pull away from her breasts, picking up speed, thrusting into her deeper, harder; relishing in every sigh and moan it pulls from her lips. "_Everything_," I repeat, my hands finally pulling away from her face, banding an arm underneath her arched back, pulling her body flush against mine as my lips find hers again, breathing against them, "_My everything_."

"Eric," she groans again against my lips, "I—"

"Tell me you love me too, Pamela, please," I plead, my movements becoming less controlled; the love, the lust, the pure _need_ I feel through her blood quickly beginning to cause me to lose my precious self control. My eyes fall closed as I bury my face in her neck, pulling her small frame tighter against me as I slam myself inside her roughly, her ragged breaths and the sounds of our bodies coming together like music to my ears; that is, until I heard her next words, the words I can't get enough of.

"I do," she moans, her arms encircling my neck, hugging me to her, "I love you. I love you."

"Pamela," I whisper reverently, my voice hoarse.

"I love you," she sobs out again, as I begin to feel her walls fluttering around me. "Eric, oh God, Eric," she cries, clutching fitfully everywhere her hands can reach. "I'm going to—"

"Godric is coming," I grind out, never missing a beat; close, so close to both of us finding release.

"What?" she gasps, her eyes wide as she pulls back to look at me, confusion painting her features.

"Bad choice of words," I groan, "Godric is almost here. Oh, _fuck_," I grunt, seconds from exploding. Reaching between us, my fingers dive into her folds, finding that most sensitive spot as I growl at her ear, "Come for me, baby…"

The second she falls apart, her pleasure detonates through our bond, and I can only manage to thrust into her a few more times before I'm thrown over the edge, spilling myself inside of her with a vicious snarl as I crash my lips into hers. I can feel her fingers sinking into my hair as she returns my kiss, slicing her tongue on my fangs, unable to keep myself from moaning like an idiot at another taste of her blood, even as the wounds heal.

For a moment, I can only collapse on top of her, covering her warm little body completely with mine. I can't help but smile when I try to roll off of her, feeling rather boneless, but she growls in a kittenish way and only clutches me tighter.

"Stay," she whispers as my face finds her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin and her hair.

"Yes ma'am," I reply, opening my mouth to say something else, but I feel him seconds before I hear him, the front door and then the bedroom door both opening in lightning-fast succession.

"Honey, I'm ho—" my apparently pop-culture obsessed Maker starts before he takes in the scene before him, finishing with a soft, "Oh," as if he's surprised by what he finds, as if he can't feel me, as if he didn't know _exactly_ what was taking place moments before he got here.

"Godric!" Pam squeaks, pushing me off of her as she clutches the blankets up around her chest. "What the fuck!"

"I warned you he was coming," I say with a smirk as I flop over on my back, stretching out beside her.

"I _know_," she says with obvious exasperation, flinging the other side of the covers over me as well, as if Godric hasn't seen it all before. And then some. "I _thought_ he would wait downstairs or something," she grits out, giving my maker a pointed stare.

"I suppose I can do that," Godric says with a mischievous grin, "We have a lot to talk about, mina barn. Hurry down," he chirps as he turns to walk towards the door, stopping just as he reaches the threshold, turning his head to ask over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "Or I could just join you two, and we could talk later…"

Pam gasps at the same moment my fangs snap down, growling at him, "She's _mine._"

"Your point, my son?" he asks playfully as he disappears from view. "Hurry up. We have guests."

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**A/N: That Godric. What are we going to do with him? As I said before, next chapter is already mostly written and will be up within a day or two. Review, please. Do it for adorable, mischievous Godric.**

**Swedish translations:**

**min princessa - my princess**

**min älskling - my darling**

**kärlek - love**

**min sötnos - my baby**

**min söta sötnos - my sweet baby**

**mina barn - my children**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I know I promised this a few days ago, but I hope it's worth the wait. Super glad I split this and the last chapter into two, nobody wants to read a 13,000 word chapter, do they? Anyway, sorry for the delay, my muses went batshit. I just...I just apologize in advance. Thanks for continuing to read this craziness, I love y'all. For reals. Enjoy, if you can.**

* * *

Considering I could barely keep my hands off of her, Pam and I were in and out of the shower in record time. I had left her in there to do whatever it was she was doing in the bathroom long enough to stroll down the hall to the room that she had insisted on setting up to be mine, a towel draped loosely around my hips, with the intent to get dressed, however reluctantly.

My room in her house was lavishly furnished and decorated, on my dime of course, much in the same way she decorated my own home. Dark colors, jewel tones, sleek lines and smooth surfaces, all of which she had decided I liked, when she knew I could care less. I had explained to her on many occasions over the years that I was a Viking, that what I _preferred_, what made me feel at home, would be unspeakable to her. Dirt floors, thatched roofs, pelts and furs to lie on and cover with. She wouldn't have lasted very long in those days, for sure.

And I can see her now the night I told her as much, standing there with her hand on one hip, that aggravating eyebrow she inherited from me cocked up practically into her hairline, staring at me like I was some sort of alien life form before spinning on her heel to go decorate as she saw fit.

My hand trails down the silky black comforter on the king-sized bed as I walk by, rolling my eyes as I wonder why I let Godric stay in here. I spent the last two nights crammed in a much smaller bed with her, wrapped in those humiliating pink sheets; while Godric, who is half my height, got to stretch out and not feel like a twelve year old girl while he did it.

But as I walk into the closet to dress, I realize I'm kidding myself. I'd sleep on the ground to be able to rest beside her. Soon enough, if this goes well, I'll be sleeping _underground_ with her. Hopefully sooner than later.

The thought causes me to freeze as I reach for a shirt, my hand stilling in mid-air before dropping limply back to my side. These past few days, I was so intent on getting her memories back, so intent on _fixing_ her, I hadn't stopped to think about what fixing her entailed.

Turning her. _Killing her. _Taking the life from her body, leaving her cold. _Dead._

I had done it before, yes. But something is so acutely different this time. I didn't know her then, she was still a stranger, and as nervous as I was turning her the first time, I would have survived if she didn't rise. But this time? Godric's words the night he arrived suddenly echo in my head, _she may not rise, min bror,_ the mere thought making my cold blood turn to ice. She would be dead, finally dead, and it would have been _me_ that killed her.

Her soft, quick footsteps coming down the hallway shake me from my thoughts, turning in time just to catch her wandering into the closet, wide eyed and lost-looking, until her eyes land on me.

For the first time since she's lost her memory, she's dressed, and the sight catches me off guard. She's been either in a nightgown, or wearing one of my shirts hanging off her tiny frame, or more recently, nothing at all, ever since I found her that night in the woods. But now, she's dressed in jeans, wrapped in a soft looking pink sweater.

She doesn't stop in the doorway, instead walking right into my waiting arms, the sudden anxiety I feel coming from her mixing with my own, setting me on edge. For a moment, I simply hold her to me in silence, my hands running soothingly down her back as she rubs her cheek against my bare chest, before my hands slide up to cup her cheeks, turning her face up to mine.

My fingers run through her hair that's mostly dry, hanging loose in soft waves, tucking it behind her ear before my fingers trail down her jaw as I examine her face. Makeup and everything, although her eyes, as they study me, seem to not hold their usual sparkle.

"What's wrong?" she asks me softly, both her hands coming up to rest on my chest.

"Nothing is wrong," I answer her, not caring to share my true worry with her; not wanting to add to whatever is bothering her. "You look beautiful, Pam," I say honestly.

"Thank you," she breathes, her arms sliding around me, toying with the towel that's still wrapped around my waist. She's silent for a moment before she whispers, "Eric, what's going to happen?"

"Godric brought someone to help us," I answer simply.

"How?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"I imagine to try to break the curse," I say as nonchalantly as I can manage, releasing her, turning to do what I came in the closet to do. I dress in silence, pulling a dark pair of jeans over my hips before yanking a plain black t-shirt that probably cost an entire night's profit at Fangtasia, knowing her, over my head.

Turning back around, I catch her staring at her bare feet, the apprehension rolling off of her in waves. Closing the distance between us in two long strides, I turn her face up to mine with a finger under her chin, repeating her own question, "What's wrong?"

"I'm…" she trails off, swallowing thickly. "I'm afraid. I'm sorry," she adds, her eyes shifting downward again, seemingly embarrassed.

"Stop apologizing," I say sternly, gripping her chin until her gaze returns to me. "We're just going to talk to them. Nothing's going to happen tonight." My voice drops as I lower my head to hers, kissing her softly, lingeringly. "I won't let anything happen to you, Pamela. I won't let anything hurt you. I swear it."

"I know," she answers with a nod. "I know you won't, Eric," she says, a little stronger this time.

"Good," I say with a grin that belies the uneasiness I feel, reaching down to take her small hand in mine, pulling it up to my lips to brush a kiss against her fingers. Dropping our intertwined hands to my side, I ask her softly, "Ready?"

She nods, and without another word exchanged between us, I walk from the closet, striding to the bedroom door and out into the hall with her trailing along behind me, her hand gripping mine as tightly as she no doubt can manage.

A familiar voice reaches my ears when we're halfway way down the stairs.

"Aw, hell naw. Fuck this, you didn' say it was _this_ motherfucka that needed our help."

"Ah, if it isn't Lafayette," I growl as I enter the living room, watching as he sits the framed picture of Pam and I back down onto the table beside the sofa, whirling around to face me, the fear obvious in his eyes. My eyes fall on my maker, who is sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, his legs crossed out in front of him at the ankle. "_This_ is who you bring to help us? A known vampire blood dealer, into my child's home?"

I can feel Pam right behind me, her hand gripping my shirt as she hides behind my larger frame, the warmth of her body seeping into mine she's standing so close. Godric's eyes shift over to Lafayette, arching an eyebrow at the effeminate man in question.

"Nuh-uh, Bossman," he says, looking from me to Godric, placing his hand on his hip, "Hookah is _retired_."

"You're only retired because I almost decapitated you, _hookah_," I snarl, imitating him. I had caught him all but red-handed, and as Sheriff it is my duty to rid the area of such vermin as the man before me, dressed in tight jeans and a woman's purple shirt with a deep v-neck, batting his false eyelashes at us as innocently as he can manage.

"It will be tomorrow before I can get what we need," another, different, voice comes from the kitchen, its owner stepping out to stand beside Lafayette. A man I've never seen before, of some sort of Spanish decent, his accent barely audible in his deep voice.

He looks between us, from Lafayette, noting the obvious fear in his friend's eyes, to me, my fangs bared and my fists clenched at my sides, probably unable to even see Pamela cowering behind me.

Taking a tentative step towards me, he extends his hand as if he wishes for me to shake it, a friendly smile on his face. "I'm Jesus Velasquez, and this," he gestures towards my old friend, "is my boyfriend, Lafayette."

"Lafayette and I go way back," I growl, staring down at Jesus' proffered hand until he finally returns it to his side, his eyes shifting back to Lafayette in question.

"Was he…" he begins, before he stops, looking back to me. "Were you the vampire that tortured him?"

"I'm the vampire that spared your boyfriend's life, which is more than can be said for the other dealers I've caught over the years," I answer coldly, still unsure as to _why_ I spared his life. He was a friend of Jason's, and Jason had begged me not to kill him once he discovered him in the basement, and although I do not make a habit of granting Jason's requests, I had relented. Through addressing the humans in the room, with the exception of the woman standing behind me, I look to Godric. "What is going on?"

"They were associates of the witch, Hallow," Godric answers, opening his mouth to say more before I cut him off.

"Let me fucking get this straight. You bring a known V dealer into my progeny's home, _as well_ as two people associated with the witch that nearly killed her," I snarl at my maker, before turning my eyes on Jesus. "Are you a witch?"

"No, sir," he answers respectfully, "I am a brujo."

"What the fuck is a brujo?" I growl, honestly not caring to hear the answer. All I can think about is that these humans could pose a danger to _my_ child, may have had a hand in what happened to her. Reaching behind me, I grasp her wrist to keep her in place, shielded by my body, as I look back to Godric, addressing him in a tone of voice I haven't ever dared to use with him as I struggle to control my urge to separate heads from shoulders. "Get them _out_ of here. Get them the fuck _away _from her."

"Eric," Godric says harshly as he rises to his feet, his voice dripping with his maker's command as he hisses, "_Silence._"

My mouth snaps shut without my permission, and all I can do is glare daggers at my maker, a growl rumbling through my chest, more livid with him than I can ever recall being.

"Now," he says quietly, his eyes still on me as I feel the hold of his command slipping away, "We're going to listen to what they have to say. They came here to help, not to hurt her. Pamela," he calls to her, his tone soft, "Come to me, darling."

I can feel Pam peek out before she tentatively steps from around me, her eyes darting to mine. I hold her gaze for a long moment before I nod, every fiber of my being straining to keep hold of her, shield her, keep her safe.

"Fuck me," Lafayette breathes, his eyes wide, taking Pam in as she stands shakily, clutching my hand, looking between Godric and I as if she knows I don't want her to go to him despite my permission to do so. Her eyes dart to Lafayette as he cocks his head, letting out a low whistle. "It was you? You killed Hallow?"

"Do I know you?" Pam whispers, her hand tightening around mine, her anxiety rising.

Lafayette chuckles as he twirls the end of the scarf covering his head around one finger. "Unfortunately for me you do, babygirl," he states, flicking his eyes over to me, his tone light despite the fear I can still see brewing in his dark eyes. "You and yo overgrown Ken doll threw me in yo dungeon and tortured my pretty ass for weeks."

"I...I'm..." she stutters; fear, horror and disgust all hitting me through our bond in quick secession as she finishes, breathing, "I'm sorry."

His eyes narrow as he takes a step forward, Pamela taking a step backwards until her back hits my chest, her hands reaching for me behind her, her fear skyrocketing. She's only had to deal with me and Godric, and occasionally Jason, since she lost her memories, and meeting these two new humans seems to be proving to be overwhelming for her already.

Lafayette stops, eyes widening as he asks softly, "You really don't remember me?"

"_Enough,_" I growl, hooking my arm around Pam's shoulders, holding her to my chest. "You are frightening her."

"_I'm _frightenin' _her?" _Lafayette asks incredulously as he obediently takes several steps back, returning to his lover's side, shaking his head as he says, "This is the scariest bitch I ever met, and I'm scarin' her."

"Scarier than Ruby Jean?" Jesus asks with a laugh.

"Ruby Jean ain't got shit on Miss Pam," Lafayette snorts.

"If you two are quite fucking finished," I snarl as Pam turns in my arms, hiding her face in my t-shirt.

"Pam?" Jesus asks gently, waiting until she peers at him over her shoulder, still wrapped in my embrace to continue, "We're here to help. Nobody is going to hurt you," he adds, seemingly addressing me. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he questions her sympathetically.

"How the fuck do you think she's feeling?"

"Eric," Godric reprimands angrily, "Bring her over here, sit down and shut the _fuck_ up. _You_ are frightening her."

I can't help it, my eyes widen hearing Godric curse, an _extremely_ rare occurrence. Pam's face turns up to mine, and I can see it in her eyes, begging me to take her away from this, to remove her from this situation that's causing her distress, distress that I'm adding to. My hands rise to cup her face, my thumbs stroking her cheeks as I murmur to her, "I am sorry, min söta. Come."

Taking her small hand in mine, I lead her to the couch, pulling her down to sit between Godric and myself once he joins us. My arm automatically hooks around her shoulders, pulling her against me; both of us, no doubt, feeling better, safer, with my hands on her.

"Explain," I bark at the two men as they take a seat in the chairs opposite of us.

"I'll start from the beginning," Jesus offers, folding his hands in his lap. "I come from a long line of brujos, natural witches. My father, and my grandfather before me. I met Hallow when I moved to Louisiana, and joined her coven." He pauses when I growl, but presses on. "Lafayette has natural power, and I convinced him to come with me, and eventually he joined the coven as well.

"It didn't take me long to realize that Hallow was up to no good," he says, shaking his head. "We knew she was becoming involved with vampires—"

"Sophie-Anne," I interject.

"Yes," Jesus replies, "And her associates. Hallow is—was—the strongest, most powerful witch I've ever encountered. Her abilities, quite frankly, were astonishing. But when someone that powerful goes bad…"

"That bitch was straight up nuts," Lafayette interrupts. "Her and that fuckin' bird."

"Bird?" I query.

"Her parrot," Jesus answers. "It died, and she used necromancy to bring it back to life."

My eyes dart to Godric over Pamela's head as he meets my eyes, both of us knowing how dangerous a witch capable of necromancy could be to our kind. Good thing she's no longer among the living.

"And you?" I ask coldly, adding when he raises an eyebrow in question, "Are you a necromancer?"

"No, no," Jesus replies immediately, "we left the coven shortly thereafter. Mr. Northman, you need to understand, I grew up around very dark magic. I've seen what it can do. I have _no _desire to be involved in that."

I nod. "How did you find them?" I question Godric.

"My associate in New Orleans, Octavia, knew of the coven Hallow led before it disbanded."

"We broke into her home," Jesus adds, nodding at Godric, "once he told us what happened. I found her spellbook…" He trails off, his eyes falling on Pamela. Sad, sorrowful eyes that set me on edge.

"Can you help her?" I ask quietly, tightening my hold on Pam's shoulders, bracing myself for his response.

"Godric and I spent all last night looking at the spell she used," he answers, shaking his head.

"The spell we _think _she used," Godric adds.

"_Think?_" I repeat incredulously.

"Yes," Jesus replies, "there's no one spell that would bring about her final death, and then resurrect her as human somewhere else with no memory of herself. Godric said she disappeared before your eyes?"

"She did," I manage to bite out through gritted teeth, my grip on her tightening until she squeaks in pain, not wanting to relive that particular memory.

"We need to reverse the spell that made her human, so that you can turn her again," Jesus says, stopping to swallow before he adds, "But we can come up with no way for us to get her memories back."

For a moment, everyone is silent, letting that sink in before Pam whispers, "But I want them back. I _need _them back."

"It's okay," I say softly, my hand rubbing soothingly up her arm. "We will wait until we figure out how to get them back for you before we do the rest."

"We cannot wait," Godric murmurs, and when I look up to him, I can see the pain his eyes hold as he looks at me. "We cannot put this off, Eric."

"Why not?" I ask suspiciously, unused to being told what I can and cannot do.

Jesus' voice calls my attention back to him as he looks to Pamela. "I asked you earlier how you were feeling, Pam." His eyes search hers for a moment before he asks, "How _are_ you feeling?"

"I…" she begins, before Lafayette interjects.

"Tired?" he asks.

"Yes. Very," she answers softly. Looking down at her, I search through the bond we share, and sure enough, I can feel it. The fatigue. Once I recognize it for what it is, it suddenly bowls me over, making even _me _feel tired.

"She slept all day," I add, remembering, my eyes glued to her face. "Most of the night last night, all day today, and until midnight tonight."

"Have you been sick?" Jesus asks gently.

"Yes," she whispers, looking down in her lap.

"Sick? When?" I demand, reaching out to turn her face towards mine.

"Just a few times," she answers feebly, not meeting my eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask angrily.

"I didn't want to worry you, Eric," she says softly, her body trembling seeing the anger in my eyes.

"I knew," Godric says from beside her, "I heard her, day before yesterday, while you were resting. It was I that told her to go outside, to get some fresh air..."

"What the fuck," I breathe, unable to stop from feeling like everyone has been hiding something from me, even though I understand Pamela not wanting to worry me, and I know Godric hasn't had a chance to discuss it with me. But as the anger begins to fade as quickly as it came, it's replaced by fear as it washes over me, chilling me, as I look back at Jesus.

"Why are you asking her this?" I question, my accent thick in my voice as I subconsciously pull her even closer. "What is happening to her?"

Jesus and Lafayette exchange a sympathetic look, before they both simultaneously look to Godric.

I can feel his dread hit me seconds before he finally opens his mouth to speak.

"She is dying, min bror," he says quietly, before adding, "Rapidly."

If I had a heartbeat, it would have come to a screeching halt. I barely hear her gasp beside me, her shaking hands rising to clutch at my wrist on the arm draped tightly around her, barely hear her as she whispers my name; all I can hear is the deafening sound of my entire world crumbling around me for the second time in as many days.

My eyes drop to the floor as I whisper one word, the only word I can force my mouth to form, my voice sounding like someone else's, not at all like my own. "Why?"

"Her body," Godric answers softly, "has been dead for over a hundred years, Eric. The witch killed her, you felt your bond break when she met her final death. It is our magic that keeps us alive every night. The witch's magic brought her back."

"But it's not strong enough to sustain her," Jesus adds, "not by a long shot. A body that's been dead for so long can't just come back to life. It can't work the way it used to. Hallow's spell brought her back, but it was meant to be short-lived."

"She knew if she baited Pam, she'd attack," Godric continues, his eyes on Pam as she sits, frozen and trembling, in my arms. "Sophie-Anne must have known and told her Pamela would defend you."

"Of course," I murmur offhand, struggling to listen to them.

"She must not have accounted for how fast Pam could drain her," Jesus says, and I look up to see him regarding us with sad eyes as he reaches for Lafayette's hand. "She obviously expected to be able to finish the spell before Pam could kill her, saving herself."

"She didn't," I whisper, remembering every millisecond of that night all too well.

"No," Godric agrees, "but she managed to complete the spell."

"The first part, anyway," Lafayette says.

"Yes," Jesus finishes for him, "Enough to kill her, and bring her back."

"Why?" I ask, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. "What's the point?"

"I believe she planned to get Pamela, in her human form, to the queen," Godric says, "and then lift the spell, so that Sophie-Anne could turn her herself. Make her hers."

The queen's voice from the night she visited Fantasia, when I refused her, rings in my ears. _Everything you own will belong to me._

"We could only find one record of a vampire who had met their final death being brought back to life," Jesus says gently. "And it was centuries ago. It had to be where Hallow got the idea."

"And?" I manage to ask.

"He lived for a few days as a human," Godric says softly, "before he succumbed to his death. It was not…pretty, according to the text."

I smell Pam's tears a second before I hear her sniffle, and, beyond caring about what the two other humans in the room witness, I quickly gather her up and pull her into my lap, kissing her hair as she buries her face in my neck.

"I don't want to hear anymore," she whimpers against my skin, her voice choked.

I nod in understanding, pulling her face up to mine. Kissing her softly, I whisper, "Go upstairs, min älskade. I'll be up soon."

She nods as she pulls away to stand before me, her fingers lingering against mine until the distance forces us apart. Sparing Lafayette and Jesus a nod as she wipes the tears from her face, she turns and quickly heads back up the stairs to her room.

My eyes linger on the place she disappeared from as I speak; my voice barely above a whisper. "What are we going to do?"

"I think it's your blood that is sustaining her at the moment," Godric answers, "but if we are going to save her, we must act fast, my son."

"But her memories…" I murmur, finally tearing my eyes away from where I last saw her to look towards my maker.

"There's no time," Jesus says from across the room. "Even with your blood, Mr. Northman, she could only have a couple of days left."

"I can't lose her," I say absently, to nobody but myself, "not again."

Suddenly I stand, the distance she's put between us becoming too much for me to bear. "What needs to be done?" I ask the men in the room, sounding much more like my normal authoritative self than I feel.

"Lafayette and I will gather the supplies we need to break the spell tomorrow and return here at sunset," Jesus says, but Godric interrupts.

"Eric, there's more."

I raise an eyebrow at him in irritation, itching to get back to her.

"Breaking the spell," Godric says, "will not be easy on her."

"What do you mean?" I ask, turning to face him.

"We don't know how it will affect her," Jesus says from his seat beside Lafayette.

"What do you mean 'how it will affect her'?" I growl, stepping towards him. "Godric?" I ask as my eyes snap to my maker, knowing he can feel me, knowing he knows how close I am to losing my hard-won self-control.

"We told you," Jesus says steadily, holding my eyes, "this has never been done before."

"And?" I ask.

"There will most likely be physical pain," Jesus answers softly, looking away.

"I will _not_ let you hurt her," I snarl, my fangs snapping down.

"There's no other choice," Godric responds gently, "once it's over, you can turn her. You can relieve her pain, Eric."

"But she'll have no memories," I whisper, my fangs retracting as quickly as they came.

Godric's eyes flicker to the two witches before he walks towards the stairs, gesturing for me to follow. Obediently, I do, sinking down on a low step out of sight of the men in the living room, my head dropping into my hands, my elbows on my knees.

Lost. I feel lost. Defeated. I had promised her, over and over, I would fix her. Never, in over a century, have I lied to her. Not once. And now, it seems, I've told her the biggest lie of all. That she would be okay. That _we_ would be okay.

"She's dying," I whisper quietly, rubbing my eyes with my palms. "She's going to die."

"I am sorry, my son," Godric whispers back. I can feel his hand resting on the back of my neck as he stands before me, our heights evened by my place on the steps, his touch not bringing me a shred of comfort as it has for the past one thousand years.

"If they can't break the curse..." I start before I stop, choking on the words.

"It is a possibility that you must consider, Eric," he says gently.

"I cannot consider it," I say gruffly, lifting my head to look up at him. "I will _not_ consider it."

"Eric," he repeats, "you must. Even if the spell does work..."

"What?" I demand as he trails off.

"She may not be strong enough to survive the spell," he says softly.

"This is unacceptable," I growl lowly at him. "You're telling me that either way, I could lose her, and even if she lives, even _if _I can turn her again, she will never be the same. Two centuries of memories, gone forever. No recollection of her life. No recollection of _us."_

"Eric," he repeats again in a measured tone, "my son, you must accept the possibility. You must prepare yourself for her not to be able to be turned, or if you turn her, for her not to rise. You _must_ prepare yourself for the worst."

"I will _not_," I snarl as I leap to my feet, towering over him, "would you, Godric? Would you accept it if I looked at you as if you were a stranger? If every memory, every experience we shared together, was gone without a trace?"

"I— " he begins, before I interrupt him.

"You would not," I say, before I add coldly, "and if you _would_, your love for me is nowhere near my love for her."

"You know better than that," he replies.

For a moment, he returns my glare with nothing but love and pity in his steely grey eyes, before I can endeavor to speak again. "If she does not survive," I begin, stopping when my voice cracks, my eyes falling to the floor between us as I swallow thickly. When my eyes rise to meet his again, I can feel they are rimmed with bloody tears. "You speak of preparing for the worst. Accepting. I barely survived losing her the first time, Godric. If Pamela does not survive this, I will follow her right out of this world. I will meet the sun. Prepare yourself for _that_."

Not waiting for his reply, our bond filled with the pain my statement brings him, I spin on my heel as I flash up the stairs and down the hall to the room she's in, pausing as I press my hand against the closed door, trying to calm my panic; trying to will away the tears that are so close to falling, _anything _not to distress her further.

But I needn't have worried about it. As I push open the door, my eyes land on her, curled around the pillow I've slept on for the past two nights, her fatigue causing her to already be fast asleep. I can see from where I stand her eyes are swollen, her nose red; knowing she cried herself to sleep without me there to hold her feels like a punch in the gut.

Knowing what I know now, I do not want to wake her. Walking as silently as only a predator can, I creep into the bedroom to stand beside the bed, looking down at her beautiful face, peaceful once again in her sleep but for the occasional twitch as she dreams.

Leaving her side, I cross to the chair in the corner of the room where my jeans from the night we arrived here are tossed carelessly over one arm, covered by the clothes she must have shed before she climbed into bed. Undressing in silence, having no intentions of leaving this room for the rest of the night, I toss my t-shirt and jeans into the pile. Plucking up the old pair of jeans, I dig in the pockets to retrieve their contents: my cellphone and the pocket knife I always keep on me, much to her amusement. My lips curl up into a sad smile as I remember how she insists I only keep it so I have something handy to open the many packages she receives, ordering endless amounts of shit on my credit card.

Pressing the button to illuminate the phone I haven't checked in days, I have to stop myself from growling seeing multiple missed calls and text messages from the queen herself. As her subject, I would normally be required to return her calls immediately, but I know I won't be her subject much longer. One way or another, I'll have her fucking head for what she's done to her. What she's done to _us_. She may have won, she may have successfully brought about my downfall, but I will see to it that she doesn't live to enjoy her victory.

As I walk back to Pamela's bedside, I flip open the phone, preparing to at least see what Sophie-Anne has had the gall to be texting me so relentlessly about, but just as I reach the edge of the bed where my _true_ queen lies, I freeze, seeing the background image set on my phone.

My knees no longer seeming to work, I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my hand trembling as I reach up to run my finger down the screen, feeling a tear that had been struggling to fall finally making its way down my cheek.

"Surprise," I hear her whisper from behind me, but I can't force my eyes to look at her, can't force myself to feel bad for waking her when she needs her rest. My eyes are glued, still, to the screen clutched my large hand.

It's her, the tiny, digital version of her at least, that she must have taken herself. Basking in the sunlight in nothing but that wispy bikini, it's rays bouncing off her golden hair and her milky skin, a breathtaking smile on her lips, lighting up her face despite the dark circles I can now see underneath her eyes, evidence that I overlooked that something was amiss with her, that she was not well.

I can feel her warm hand trailing up the bare skin of my back seconds before she speaks. "I hope you don't mind that I messed with your phone," she says softly.

"No," I croak, the only word I can manage, loosening my grip on the device as I hear the plastic beginning to creak underneath my hand.

"I wished you were there with me," she murmurs from behind me.

I can only nod, reaching up to swipe away the tears that have fallen as I whisper, my voice hoarse. "A thousand years of darkness…"

"Oh, fuck," she whispers back, withdrawing her hand, her voice shaking as she adds, "I'm sorry, Eric. I wasn't thinking-"

Turning to grab her retreating hand, I kiss her knuckles, before pressing her palm to my cheek as I ask, "Why are you sorry?"

"I just wanted..." she begins, before stopping to look away. "I just missed you so much, Eric. I wished you were with me..."

"Me too," I whisper softly, pressing my lips against her palm.

"I didn't mean to rub it in," she murmurs, her eyes dropping.

In a flurry of movement, I've tossed the phone and knife onto the small table at her bedside and pulled back the ridiculous pink blankets, sliding into bed beside her. Pulling her warm body flush against mine, my lips find her ear as I speak, struggling to find the right words to say. "No, min princessa," I whisper, burying my nose in her hair, still smelling of strawberries from her earlier shower. "You've given me a gift, Pamela. To see the sun at all would be enough. But to see you in the sunlight?" My arms tighten around her as I murmur, "A thousand years, and you still surprise me."

For a moment, we lie in silence, the only sound in the room being her heart thudding away against my chest, her shallow breaths. Pulling back, I cup her cheeks as I whisper, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Pamela. Magnificent in the sunlight. But you belong in the moonlight," I say before my voice breaks, choked with emotion, with fear of what's to come. "You belong in the moonlight, with me."

"I want to be wherever you are," she whispers back, and I watch, helpless, as tears well up in her big, lovely eyes. "I don't want to die, Eric," she whimpers softly.

I swallow thickly as I wipe her tears away with my thumbs, struggling to keep my voice even. "You won't. You will not, Pamela. I won't allow it."

"Eric," she responds, "don't lie to me. Please."

My eyes drop from hers, knowing that I have no choice but to obey those words. "Never in all our time together have I lied to you," I whisper, my fingers caressing her cheeks. "I do not plan to start now."

"Tell me the truth, then."

"I _did_," I say stubbornly, "I _will not_ allow it, Pamela."

"My—our—memories?" she asks brokenly, and I can only answer with a shake of my head, already mourning the loss of our lives together. Thousands of nights spent lost in each other, laughing together, _thriving_ together. Memories that now only I hold; memories that, I thought if we couldn't regain, we would have an eternity to make new ones, but now…

"What's going to happen?" she questions, her voice so small it's almost inaudible.

"I don't know," I answer her honestly. "_They_ don't know. They will try to reverse the spell so I can turn you, but they can't…" I trail off for a moment, the fear of losing her hitting me so acutely it sucks the breath I don't need from my lungs, my chest aching from the loss. "They can't promise me anything," I whisper dejectedly, "They don't know how it will affect you, if it will hurt you. Godric says…" I stop myself, before forcing myself to continue, to honor my promise not to lie to her, not to omit any truths. "Godric says the spell may not work. That my blood is what's kept you alive."

"How long?" she asks softly, her eyes searching mine.

I swallow thickly, looking away from her penetrating eyes, feeling what was left of my stony exterior crumbling beneath the weight of her gaze, the sorrow in her eyes, my own devastation reflected back at me. Knowing from her vague question what she's asking. An answer to a question I never thought I'd have to give: how long we have left together. "A few days," I manage to say, before I close my eyes, unable to watch the pain, the fear, I know must be crossing her face.

To finally get what I've wanted, needed, so _desperately_. To have her back in my arms, in my bed where she belongs, after all this time. Decades of longing for her, for what we once had. Years, since she came back to me, of watching her from across our club, lying to her, lying to _myself_, about how much I needed her; to get her back, only for her to be cruelly ripped away from me.

Just a few days ago, I lay in equally pink sheets, her bed in my own home, grieving for her. Thinking I would never see her face again. Look into her eyes, see her smile, hear her laugh, touch her soft skin. But she came back to me. _A blessing in disguise_, she had called her curse, and at the time I had agreed. A second chance, an opportunity to say and do what I hadn't had the courage to do: to put my heart on the line. To take that risk.

A second chance, that's now become my _last_ chance.

Her warm fingers on my cheek bring me back from my thoughts as they softly brush under my eyes, wiping away the tears that have fallen, before I feel her lips place feather-light kisses on each of my closed eyelids. As she pulls away, my eyes fly open, my hand reaching up to grasp the back of her neck, pulling her lips roughly to mine.

I can taste my tears mixed with her own on her lips as she returns my kiss, our hands pulling each other closer in desperation I've never experienced before. Gently, suddenly so afraid to hurt her, I pull her on top of me, my hands burying themselves in her soft hair as it cascades around us both, framing our faces as our lips and tongues move together, her hands finding my neck as she settles her slight frame over mine.

Pulling back, I smooth her hair back from her face as I choke out, "Pamela," beyond caring to hide my tears, beyond caring to hide my desperation, "min kärlek, _min __sötnos_, I am so sorry. So, so sorry…"

"Eric, no," she breathes as I close my eyes, feeling her warm teardrops falling on my face.

"We were never supposed to have an end," I whisper, "We were supposed to have an eternity." I open my eyes to look up at her, still so beautiful despite the tears streaking her skin, my thumbs caressing her cheeks as I frame her face; my voice hoarse, broken. "I should have told you the truth. We've wasted so many nights…"

"Stop," she commands softly, brushing her lips against my cheeks, her full lips stained red with my blood when she pulls back to look at me. "I don't want to waste any more time. We've both made mistakes, but _this_," she whispers as she lowers her lips to my chest, leaving a trail of soft kisses in her wake, "_this_ is right. _This_ is how it should be. Eric," she murmurs as her warm mouth trails back up my neck, her hand drifting down between us, her lips against my ear as she breathes, "I need you. _Please._"

I can only nod as her small hand wraps around me, stroking me slowly as her lips find mine again, letting her take control, unsure if I have any control left in me to give. My hands drift from her shoulders, down her back, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin as they make their way down to her hips; helping her, guiding her, as she lowers herself onto my length agonizingly slowly until I fill her completely. Surrounded by her. _Consumed_ by her.

Her moan matches my own as her head rolls back, her eyes fluttering closed, the ends of her long hair barely brushing against my thighs as she slowly raises her body before sinking back down onto me again, and again, her hips rolling against mine as she moves over me, my hands steady on her hips, not pushing her faster or slower, allowing her to set her own pace.

My eyes stay locked on her face as one hand releases her, sliding up her stomach, teasing her breasts along their way to grasp her neck, my thumb against her chin tilting her head down as I whisper, "Open your eyes, sötnos. Please, Pamela, look at me."

Obediently, she opens her eyes, and my breath catches in my throat, almost immediately regretting my request. Deep seas of blue swimming with tears and her fear, the sorrow and anxiety I can feel in her blood reflecting back at me as her tears spill over, realization suddenly hitting me, splitting my already broken heart in two.

_She's saying goodbye._

"Pamela," I manage to choke out, suddenly possessed with my need for her to feel me, too. To feel my love for her. My fear of losing her. "Pamela, bond with me," I plead, "Please."

"Yes," she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest as her movements still. "Please, Eric."

In a flash I have her pinned beneath me, never leaving her warmth as I take up her slow rhythm, stroking deeply inside her. My lips find her pulse as my hand reaches out, fumbling around on the table beside the bed until my fingers close around the knife I laid there earlier. Flicking open the blade, I rise above her on my elbows, watching her eyes widen as I slice deeply into my neck, feeling the cool blood begin to flow sluggishly from the wound.

My hand slides behind her head, pulling her to me as I grit out hoarsely, letting myself forget for a moment she can't understand me anymore, "Dryck, min kärlek." I gasp as I feel her lips against my skin as she begins to draw on the wound, moaning out my words as my fangs run out, "Vi kommer att vara en."

My fangs sink into her neck as I move within her, the first mouthful of her blood charging forth, warming my throat as I swallow, tossing the blade aside as I pull her roughly against me. I can feel it, our blood swirling together within us, intertwining; our bond opening up almost as fully as it was before, the same yet so different. It's as if I can feel her heart beating inside of me, as if every breath she takes is my own. She whimpers against my skin, no doubt feeling my emotions suddenly hitting her full force as I try to rein them in, so as to not overwhelm her, before she pulls away.

"Eric," she whispers, as I pull my fangs from her neck, licking the wounds closed, my hands already guiding her lips back to my neck.

"Don't stop," I groan, my movements picking up speed, "Pamela, please don't stop."

If Godric thinks it's my blood sustaining her, I want her to take more. I would let her take it _all_, drain every last drop from my body if it meant she could carry on a few more days.

But if she hears my pleas, she doesn't heed them; instead I feel her hands on my cheeks, pulling my face from her neck. My movements slow as I feel her, her blood; overwhelming love, her overwhelming _need _for me, suddenly swirling with confusion and finally, shock.

"Eric," she whispers again, her next words causing me to still inside her, freezing in place, as she murmurs, "Min prins."

_Her prince_. Words I haven't heard from my princess's lips in decades.

Slowly, cautiously, I raise my head, meeting not the eyes I've seen for the past few nights, reflecting back the innocent, blank slate she has become, but instead the blue eyes that I've looked into for almost two hundred years, darting back and forth as she searches my eyes, uttering the words I've longed to hear almost as much as I've dreaded them.

"I remember everything."

* * *

**A/N: Welp. Review?**

**Translations:**

**min söta – my sweet**

**min bror – my brother**

**min älskade – my darling**

**min princessa – my princess**

**min kärlek – my love**

**min sötnos – my baby**

**Dryck, min kärlek. – Drink, my love.**

**Vi kommer att vara en. – We will be one.**

**min prins – my prince**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. This chapter is super long, so I hope that makes up for it. Somewhere between three and five chapters to go :( Thanks for sticking with me, lovers.**

* * *

It started from the beginning.

Quite literally. From the first memory I had retained of my human life, when I was just a girl. After living several lifetimes as a vampire, my earliest memories were few and far between, but this one remained as vivid as the sunlight I was playing under. I was picking daffodils, tons of them; stuffing my apron full. My hair was in pigtails. I even remember the dress I was wearing, mint green with Juliet sleeves, enough fabric in its full skirt to make twenty dresses today.

I remembered my human family; my father, my mother, my sisters. I remembered being tutored and primped and taught to be a proper Victorian lady.

I remembered meeting, being immediately drawn to, the mysterious, _painfully_ beautiful stranger in the dark one night who undid every bit of that training one night. I remember knowing the second I saw him that I would do anything I had to do to have him; rather for the rest of my life, a night, an hour, a second.

I remembered asking what he was, knowing on instinct alone he was too good to be true; too gorgeous, too graceful, too intriguing to be merely human. I remembered the first of a million questions answered with complete honesty, as he whispered the word I had only read about in books and heard in fables, as he showed me his fangs. I remembered not feeling the least bit afraid. I remembered feeling safer than I had felt in my entire life.

I remembered what love at first sight felt like.

I remembered agreeing without a second thought, knowing that he would give me everything I longed for, freedom; the freedom to make my own choices, to be who I truly was. I remembered sneaking him up to my room, tiptoeing past the rooms where my parents and sisters slept. Our bodies coming together for the first time as if they had been waiting for that moment both of our entire lives. I remembered feeling his fangs in my throat as he took my life, as he _gave_ me life. I remembered waking up in his arms after I died, after he had dug me out of the earth, cradling me against him as he explained everything for the second time.

Seeing the world, one place at a time, at his side. Leaving a trail of bodies and blood in our wakes. Slaughtering humans just to have their blood to fuck in.

I remembered reluctantly asking him for permission to go. I remembered how happy I was when he asked me to come back.

In fast-forward, I remembered _everything_. Almost two centuries of life flooded back into me in seconds, the moment our blood combined, bonding us together. The sudden onslaught of memories sent me reeling, as well as the onslaught of his emotions hitting me with the force a human isn't built to withstand.

But_ I_ can withstand them. I had been privy to them for two centuries.

I could feel him freeze the moment I uttered the words in Swedish. The language I wasn't supposed to know, much less to recall the name I had breathed in his ear in the throes of passion countless times over the years. But, it slipped from my lips before I could stop it, and I waited until his eyes finally met mine to speak, afraid, _terrified_ of what his reaction would be.

Softly, I whisper the only thing I can think to say as I search the depths of his blue eyes. "I remember everything."

His shock fades to dread as he looks away, swallowing thickly; and for a moment I can only watch, horrified, as he begins to recoil from me, rising up on his arms above me as he starts to move away, looking everywhere but my eyes.

"Eric," I choke out, grasping at his arms, panic rising in me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he pulls away, and I gasp as he uncouples our bodies; the loss of him, of his weight on me, leaving me cold, empty feeling. "I'm sorry, Pam," he says again as he sits up on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor.

Sitting up, the sheets clutched around me, all I can do is blink at his bare back as things slowly start to hit me, one by one; like my brain was in shock, and was just beginning to let things trickle through. I'm human. I'm human; and was, until about two minutes ago anyway, sleeping with Eric again. I'm human, I'm sleeping with Eric again, and I'm _dying._

_Dying._

The word echoes in my head. That it's over. My immortality taken away.

Reaching out, my fingers graze his arm, sucking in a sharp breath as he moves away, just barely out of my reach. He drops his head into his hands, his palms rubbing at his eyes, before he suddenly stands. For a long moment, he doesn't move, just staring down at the floor in front of him, before he strides to the chair across the room, snatching up his jeans.

"Where are you going?" I ask as I climb to my knees, scooting to the edge of the bed. When he begins to pull them on without answering, I ask again. "Eric?"

His gruff reply finally comes as he straightens to button his jeans, still not turning to me. "Downstairs."

"Why?" I whisper, feeling tears welling in my eyes.

"I assume you need a minute," he answers, his voice almost monotone.

"No," I manage to say, "We need to talk—"

"I can't, Pam," he interrupts, the coldness in his voice making my breath catch in my throat. Looking back over the past few days, how often had I been Pam? I was only Pam when I was in trouble. Pamela. _His _Pamela. A hundred little Swedish words that used to sound like gibberish to me, that I suddenly know again.

Just like it was before, in our earlier years. In our _best_ years.

"Why won't you look at me?" I whisper to his back.

"I can't," he repeats brokenly.

"Eric, talk to me," I say softly. "Please—"

"Why?" he asks suddenly over his shoulder, before finally he whirls to face me, his expression stony, absolutely blank, but for the wildness in his eyes and the blood still drying beneath them. "So you can tell me you don't want…"

He trails off abruptly, silence falling between us for a moment as I stare at him, before I manage to slowly shake my head. "I love you," I state simply.

"Not good enough," he growls lowly, dangerously; his eyes pinned on me as he takes a step closer. "_Not_ fucking good enough. I can feel you. I know you love me. I've always felt it. That's one thing that _hasn't_ changed over the years. Do you know what _has_ changed, Pam?"

"Us," I whisper, my eyes dropping. "We've changed."

"You," he grits out. "You changed. You didn't want me anymore."

I swallow, my eyes meeting his. "Yes I did."

"No, you didn't," he counters.

"Yes, I _did,_" I insist.

"No, you…" he begins, before his mouth snaps shut, scowling at me. I've had my memories for five minutes and already we're back to fighting like a brother and a sister whose parents have left them unattended.

"I've never stopped…I've always wanted you, Eric," I say as my eyes drop from his, the anger in his eyes suddenly making me anxious. I can't recall ever seeing him like this, a perfect storm brewing in his icy eyes, like he's moments away from losing control.

"Oh?" he asks incredulously. "Why, then, did you leave me? Why did you abandon me?"

"Why did you _let_ me go?" I ask, my own voice climbing to match his. "I never, _never_, thought you'd say yes…"

"You…" he starts before he trails off, his jaw clenching, blue eyes flashing at me from across the room. "You were testing me?"

"Yes," I answer matter-of-factly. "And you fucking _failed_."

"I loved you," he hisses, "I would have denied you nothing—"

"All I wanted was you," I interrupt with a shaking voice. "I thought you were losing interest in me. I wanted to find out if it was just my imagination." I stop for a moment raising my eyes back to his. Feeling so incredibly stupid, childish, but that doesn't mean he needs to see it. "Turns out you were."

"I…" he begins, before he closes his mouth, eyeing me warily. After a moment, he whispers, "The other women?"

Shrugging carelessly, my eyes fall to the floor as I whisper, "Yes. You didn't seem to care." I wanted him to be jealous. I wanted him to get angry. Fucking another man would have been the right way to go, but I couldn't touch another man, how could I? After having him, the epitome of men, there was no way. Only one man had ever, _would _ever, have his hands on me, be inside of me, ever since the night we met. He shakes his head, before turning back towards the door, and when I open my mouth my voice sounds overly high-pitched and squeaky, frantic, to my own ears. "Don't go, Eric. Please."

He stills with his hand on the doorknob, his anger, irritation, and an acute, almost physical pain assaulting me through our recently bonded blood. The love that flooded my body the moment we bonded, the first emotion I felt from him since the moment before I was cursed, seconds before our bond was broken, is either gone or so overshadowed by his anger that I can't feel it anymore.

I quickly realize just how _desperate_ I am for it. That there had not been a second's hesitation when I regained my memories. I loved him before. I loved him when I didn't know who I was. And I love him, I want him, now.

"Eric," I whisper, my eyes on his back, "please, listen to me." When he doesn't turn around, I push on, the words spilling from my lips. "I love you. I've always loved you. I've never stopped loving you, I never stopped wanting you. I thought _you_ didn't want me anymore, and when I asked you for permission to leave, I thought you'd tell me no. I thought you'd tell me to stay. But you _didn't_, and I thought…"

In a blur of speed my human eyes can't begin to follow, he's before me as I kneel on the edge of the bed, his hand roughly fisted in my hair as he jerks my face up to look at his. His voice is nothing but a growl when he speaks. "A misunderstanding?" he asks, his eyes blazing angrily. "A fucking miscommunication, and I've been without you, _all_ of you, for twenty years?"

Whimpering when I try unsuccessfully to move in his firm grip, I blink up at him, tears beginning to spill down my cheeks. "You never—"

"Neither did you," he growls, his chest rumbling.

"What the _fuck_ does that change?" I all but shout, my tears falling in earnest. He releases me, stepping back, looking away from my face. "We've both made mistakes. What's changed, Eric? You already knew I fucked up our relationship, something _I've_ had to live with since the night I left. From ten minutes ago, tell me what's changed? You think I don't love you the way that lost little girl did? Or do you not love _me_ the way you loved that lost little girl?"

He looks gob smacked for a moment, before his face softens almost imperceptivity. "No, Pam, I—"

"_Pamela_," I hiss, as I climb shakily to my feet, the recent infusion of his blood giving me a burst of strength despite the fatigue I feel creeping through me. "Din prinsessa. Din älskling. Din söta. Din jävla _sötnos_. You don't think I'm her, is that it? Are we two separate people to you, Eric?" Steeling myself for an answer I don't want, I raise my chin, even as my voice wavers. "Are you in love with her, and not me?"

"I—" he begins again, but the sob I had been trying to hold in suddenly escapes, the rough sound of my tears cutting him off. How I let this happen to us?

"I'm not her," I whisper as I sink to sit on the bed, my legs refusing to hold me up for a second longer, swiping at the clear human tears pouring from my eyes. "I'm not her. I'm not your lost little girl, Eric. _She_ is _me_."

When he says nothing, only looking away as he swallows thickly, my head sinks into my hands. My voice, when it breaks the silence between us, sounds pitifully broken, even to me. "I didn't know who I was. I didn't know who _you _were. But I remembered what I wanted. I remembered what I wanted without the memories to make me not _act_ on what I wanted. I remembered the only person I've _ever_ loved. The only person I've _ever _trusted."

Raising my head from my hands, I look up to see him staring at the floor, his fists balled at his side. Not budging, not saying a word. Such a sharp contrast from the man who lay in bed with me, just minutes ago; whispering to me, making love to me. _Crying_ over me.

"I told you yesterday I didn't _want_ my memories back if it would change things between us," I say softly, tears clouding my vision as I lower my eyes to the same spot on the floor he can't seem to look away from. "You promised me nothing would change. You promised me you didn't care if I couldn't regain what I had lost, what _we _had lost, but if I did we would make it work. Two hundred years without a broken promise." I can feel his eyes dart to me without even looking up, the weight of his gaze almost too much for me to bear. "I'm dying, Eric," I whisper after a few long moments of silence, finally looking up to meet his eyes, warm tears making tracks down my cheeks. "I'm going to die. You know as well as I do that those boys can't save me."

"Why would you say that?" he hisses through clenched teeth.

Ignoring his question, my voice drops so low I'm surprised he can hear it. "What I wouldn't do to give them back. My memories." He growls lowly, but I don't heed his warning as my words tumble from my mouth. "When I died, when I took my last breath, I would have known nothing but your love for me, and my love for you. Not knowing heartbreak. I would have spent my final hours making love to you, not remembering what it felt like to be separated from you. _Rejected_ by you. I'd trade ignorance of the last two centuries—"

I'm cut off as he's suddenly right in front of me again, his hand wrapped around my neck, his thumb tilting my head back to force me to look up into his eyes. Despite the roughness, the painfulness of his grip, his voice is suddenly soft as he breathes, "You don't mean that."

Swallowing thickly, I manage to nod despite his hold on me, my words a choked whisper as my eyes burn into his. "I do. If it was _her_ you loved, I'd give anything to be her again. _Anything._"

"You think this is about you?" he asks quietly. "Do you honestly think this is about you?"

I can only blink up at him as he towers over me, his hand tightening around my neck, barely managing to croak out my words, my voice weak as exhaustion starts to set in. "Eric, please," I beg him softly, my voice choked with tears, "if you've changed your mind…"

He snarls, his fangs snapping down, his tone still deadly, but his emotions start to filter through our bond. He had been hiding from me, and now slowly but surely his feelings begin to come to the surface. Dread. Fear. His pain so sharp it makes my breath catch when I feel it fully.

"You speak of broken promises?" he whispers, the pool of anguish in his eyes suddenly so deep and wide, if I could physically look away, I would. "I said I would always protect you. I promised you an eternity. And now," his voice breaks, but he doesn't look away, his eyes still locked on mine as his thumb trails along my jaw, "Now I have to look in your eyes, and know that _you_ know I lied to you. That you remember two hundred years of promises I've now broken. Lies it turns out I've told you. That I let a witch, a _human_, take you away from me. That I have to rely on fucking _humans_ to try and save your life."

He trails off for a moment, his hand finally releasing my neck to cup my cheek, his fingers stroking through the tears underneath my eyes as I remain frozen; his behavior so erratic, I don't know what's to come next. "At least you didn't know what a liar I am, without your memories," he whispers, his eyes searching mine as I watch his face harden, his rough fingers never stilling as they swipe across my cheeks. "My child," he croons, "My beautiful child. By not protecting you, I've practically signed your death sentence myself, and yet you still look at me like I hung the moon…"

"You did," I murmur, heartbroken that he blames himself, and not knowing what to say to fix it. "To me you did, min mästare."

He smiles as his eyes close, just barely, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. When he opens them, they're rimmed with red, and I remain still as his fingers drop, still holding my face as they trace my lips. "You are mistaken," he whispers, his voice hoarse with the tears he's struggling to hold back. "I've done nothing to deserve your love."

"You've done everything to deserve it," I answer softly, tentatively reaching up to clasp his wrist. When he doesn't pull away from my touch this time, I tug gently, pulling his hand to my lips, pressing them against the soothing coolness of his palm before pressing it against my cheek. "If this…" I have to stop, swallowing thickly before I try to begin again. "If this is it, I don't…I don't want you to remember me, _us_, like this, Eric."

He smiles sadly, a tear escaping the corner of his eye when he blinks. It's all I can do to sit still as it travels down his cheek, desperate to take his face in my hands, to kiss it away. "I won't," he whispers, his fingers brushing against my cheek. "I won't be remembering anything at all about us." I recoil almost immediately in shock, feeling hurt creeping through me, when he coos at me softly, such a sharp contrast to the sound of his voice since I remembered what I had lost. "Your last night will be my last night, Pamela. Your last breath is my last breath."

I can't help the gasp that escapes me as I jerk away from him, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Eric, no. _No._"

"It's not up to you, min prinsessa," he murmurs, his fingers sinking into my hair, gently tugging my head back to look at him. "You have no idea what I went through when I thought I lost you, Pamela. If I hadn't found you that night, I would have—"

"_No_," I say more firmly, sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum if it wasn't for the desperation in my voice, the tears streaming down my cheeks. The thought of me being gone is one thing, but the thought of Eric no longer existing, the force of nature that is _him_just gone from the earth without a trace, almost suffocates me. "No," I whisper, "you _will not._ That's not what I _want_."

He smiles at my words, sadly but indulgently, before he sinks to his knees, his long arms wrapping around my waist, surprising me when he lays his head in my lap. "My spoiled little brat," he whispers as the stubble of his cheek rubs roughly against my bare thigh, his voice thick with the grief, the hopelessness, I can feel swirling inside of him as he whispers brokenly, "I've missed you so much, min älskling."

"I've been right here," I murmur, my fingers threading into his soft hair. "I never truly left you." For a moment, we fall silent, my fingers combing through his hair, before I find my voice again, choked as it is with my tears, my sorrow. "I'll never _truly_ leave you, Eric." When he doesn't respond, I pull his head from my lap with my hands on his cheeks, my thumbs swiping away the tears under his eyes. "Promise me you won't…you have to keep going, Eric. Promise me you will."

"I can't do that," he says softly. "I can't promise you that."

"How could you do that to Godric?" I ask, desperate to make him see reason.

"Godric will understand," he answers.

"You're going to _make_ him understand," I reply hotly, my grip on his face tightening. "He doesn't deserve to lose you, Eric."

He shakes his head, his eyes lowering from mine as he whispers, "I'm so sorry, Pamela."

"Don't—"

"I've failed you. We've wasted so much time."

"No," I respond, my voice soft. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be dust and bones in the earth, Eric. Instead, you gave me an extra hundred years I would have never had. A hundred years with _you._"

"It's not enough," he says, "Nowhere near enough."

"No, it's not," I whisper, "But if it's all we have, it was more than enough for me." I fall silent as I search his eyes, before repeating my earlier words. "I love you, Eric. If you don't…" I trail off, swallowing before I force myself to say the words. "If you don't want me like you did before, I understand. But please don't be angry with me. Don't let us end like this."

"I was never angry with you," he murmurs, his rough palms softly running up my legs. "I was afraid."

"You still are," I say as I close my eyes, "I can feel you again…" I trail off as I concentrate on our bond. So strange that I didn't know how much I missed something until the moment I regained it.

"I'm not afraid," he breathes, lowering his head back to my lap. "I'm _terrified._"

My eyes open, looking down at him, startled by hearing the words I've never thought to hear him utter. He rubs his cheek against my thigh, leaving smears of blood behind as he whispers, "These past few days, I was afraid of you regaining your memories. Afraid of you telling me you didn't want me the way I've wanted you all along."

"I do, min prins," I coo at him as my fingers sink into his hair, my nails scratching lightly along his scalp. "I always have. I'm sorry that I…"

He cuts me off as he sits up abruptly, catching the hand that had been stroking his hair as he whispers, his voice stronger, sounding more like his normal self than he has all night. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs, dropping my hand to hook his other hand around the back of my neck, pulling my face down to his. "None of that fucking _matters_, Pamela. We can't change the past. But we can change this, now."

"Yes," I breathe, my eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips.

"Tell me you want to be with me, min söta," he says, his voice low, commanding; almost a growl rumbling in his chest. "Tell me we'll be together, for as long as we have left. Whether that be tonight, or if eternity lies before us again. Tell me you want me, Pamela. With your memories."

"I do," I repeat firmly, knowing I'll utter the words a thousand times if I have to. "I love you, Eric. I want to be with you. With my memories. Without them." I pause for a moment, his happiness at my words cutting through the despair coming from him, swelling within me, almost choking me. I open my mouth to speak at the same time he does, but he falters, no doubt expecting me to ask him to return the words. But I don't. There's only one thing I can think of, only one thing I want from him in this moment. My words are spoken in a breath, barely audible even in the heavy silence that's fallen between us. "Please let me kiss you."

His lips are on mine in the next instant. It feels almost like our first real kiss in decades, no matter how many we've shared in the past few days. No matter that my body still aches from the loss of him inside of me just moments before. I know who I am now. I know who _we_ are now.

His hands find my waist at the same time as mine sink into his hair, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his body as he kneels before me on the floor. His lips are soft but insistent against mine, his hands sliding up my back to cradle the back of my head as he pulls away to look at me, the look in his eyes unfathomable. His fingers slip from my hair to trace down my face, lingering on my lips as he whispers questioningly, "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," I murmur. His eyebrow arches in response, obviously expecting me to elaborate. I shrug carelessly, looking down at my hands in my lap. "When I was a teenager, I was ill with the flu, and then pneumonia for weeks. I almost died."

"I never knew that," he remarks softly.

"We've never talked much about my human life," I answer. And we hadn't. Why dwell on something that was a million light years in the past the moment I laid eyes on him? "That's what I feel like. Sick. Achy. Tired."

He leans in, brushing his lips against mine as his broad hands inch up my thighs, before he whispers his question against them. "How tired?"

"Depends," I whisper against his lips, my hand reaching out tentatively to pluck at the waistband of his jeans.

"Pamela," he murmurs, rising up on his knees, his great height bringing him eye to eye with me, his hand wrapping around my neck to tilt my head away from him, his lips finding my throat. "Do not toy with me."

"I want you," I whisper as his lips trail down my shoulder.

His hand tightens in my hair, pulling my face back to his, his eyes suddenly glittering dangerously. "Say it again," he commands.

"I want you," I repeat more firmly, my eyes locked on his. "I want you, Eric," I add in a softer tone. "I want you because I love you. Because I'm _in_ love with you."

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that," he murmurs, as he gracefully rises, his hand spanning my back gently laying me back on the pink sheets surrounding me, following me as I scoot back to the pile of pillows at the top of the bed.

"Probably about as long as I've been waiting to say it," I answer, my voice soft, my eyes locked on his face as he slowly lowers himself on top of my body, his weight braced on his forearms. As I blink up at him, I'm suddenly overwhelmed by loss. Loss of the years that have passed us by with us at an inadvertent impasse, both of us longing for the other, and afraid to say a word. Somewhere deep down I knew we would eventually come full circle. That, given time, we would find our way back to each other. I never dreamed that, once that happened, once we found each other again, that it would all be so cruelly ripped away.

"Don't cry, äskling," he whispers hoarsely before I even realize the tears were on my cheeks, and I look away as his hands frame my face, his thumbs dashing at the tears. His voice sounds so strangled, I can't make myself look up to see his face as he chokes out, "Please. I can't bear it."

"Everything seemed simpler when I didn't know who I was," I whimper, my eyes finally meeting his. "I don't know how to say goodbye."

"You don't," he growls, his grip suddenly turning to iron on my chin. "You don't say goodbye, we will _not_ say goodbye. This will never be over. Pamela," he whispers, his lips brushing mine, breathing his words against them, "It doesn't matter what happens, love. Do you honestly think I'll let you go? Now that I have you back?"

"I don't—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"My child," he murmurs, his lips trailing along my jaw, his blue eyes boring white-hot into mine. "My blood. My _baby._ Can't you feel how much I love you?"

"Yes," I whisper honestly, because I can. It's suffocating me, bowling me over. Almost more than this weak human form of mine can bear.

"I would move mountains for you," he says softly, his eyes still on mine, "I would force the world to stop turning. If they take you from me, I will fucking bring you back."

"I believe you," I answer truthfully, because some part of me does. There's never been a single thing the man wanted that he didn't end up with. The world bent to Eric Northman's will. It had for a thousand years.

"I love you," he breathes as his lips find mine, the desperation I feel in his blood obvious in the hoarseness of his voice as his hand fists my hair, pulling my lips further into his before he breaks away suddenly, his eyes burning into mine. "Pamela, I _need_ you to know that."

"Of course I—" I begin, but he interrupts me, all but shaking me; his eyes almost wild as he looks down at me.

"No," he insists, "When I thought you...when I thought…all I could think about was that I never told you enough. Never showed you enough—"

"I knew, Eric," I whisper softly as my fingers trail down his cheek. I hadn't had time to truly consider what he went through in the short amount of time that passed when he thought I was dead. Finally dead. Never coming back. No wonder he has so much fear of what's to come. He's experienced it already, and still so recently.

"No," he repeats, lowering his head to press his lips against my neck as he murmurs, "No, you didn't. If I had told you, shown you, you never would have had cause to question how I felt about you. You never would have left." His gruff voice drops impossibly lower as he kisses his way across my collarbone, "You'd know I can't _live_ without you. You'd know I only existed while you were away those years we were apart."

"I was miserable without you," I whisper, softly pressing my lips against his temple. "I was so happy when you asked me to come home. I wish I had told you how I felt when I returned. I _belong_ with you."

"Then how do you expect me..." he begins almost angrily, before he trails off, pressing his face against my throat. I have to struggle to hear him when he speaks again, his voice so soft, so broken, and muffled against my skin as he whispers, "How am I supposed to live without you?"

I don't answer, simply wrapping my arms around him, pulling him against me, my nose burying in his hair as I close my heavy eyes. My description to him of how I'm feeling was a huge understatement. Sick, achy, and tired don't even begin to cover it. I'm exhausted in a way I never experienced as a human, much less as a vampire; fighting to keep my eyes open already. My limbs feel heavy, and nearly everything hurts, aches; just his heavy weight on my body almost too much to bear, although I wouldn't want him to move for anything.

Just like Godric said, my body is dying. Giving up. I can feel it in my bones, in every corner of my deteriorating body.

It might not come tonight. It might not come while Eric rests tomorrow. But it's coming soon.

The end. The end of me. The end of _us_.

He raises his head to meet my eyes, and with one look at his face I can tell he feels it too. He shakes his head in a silent denial, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly in the most heartbreaking, pained smile I've ever seen as fresh tears cut red tracks down his cheeks, leaving behind little red drops on my bare chest. He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb gently wiping at the tears I didn't realize had started falling anew.

And in that moment as we hold each other's eyes, is as if a silent conversation takes place between us. Me, imploring him to accept the inevitable, of what I can feel with every fiber of my being is on the way; to prepare himself, prepare his heart. Him, begging me not to give up, not yet. To just hold on a little longer. But both of our bravados melt away under the other's gaze. Never have we been able to hide anything from each other. The part of me that tried to hide the seriousness of my condition from him, to wear a brave face for his sake, disappears under his icy gaze; and the part of him that thinks he can make _anything_happen out of brute force or sheer will, the part of him that makes him make absurd declarations about moving mountains, dies before my very eyes.

Somewhere along the way, we silently agree. That this might be _it_.

And some part of me wonders if I'll even wake up again if I allow myself to drift off to sleep. I wonder if I'll even make it until Lafayette and his boyfriend return. And if I do, they may not be able to lift the curse. And if they _do_, I may not survive it. I still may not rise.

He asked me how I can expect him to live without me? The truth is, I can't. If our roles were reversed, if he were the one leaving _me_, I wouldn't survive it.

Just the thought makes my eyes flutter closed, unable to even think of such a thing while looking in his eyes. After a moment, I feel his fingers against my cheek, before I hear his soft whisper. "Let me help you."

"There's nothing you can—" I croak, my voice choked, before he cuts me off.

"Take more of my blood," he says quietly.

"No," I murmur, my eyes still closed, "You've given me enough, Eric."

"Don't argue with me, Pamela," he answers in a failed attempt to sound stern. His voice softens as he adds, "You could drain me bone dry, and I wouldn't have given you enough. Let me help you feel better, Pamela. Even if just for a few minutes."

I can feel how helpless he feels clearly through our bonded blood. I don't tell him that his blood doesn't seem to be helping. Or perhaps it is, and I'm just deteriorating that rapidly. The few moments I was on my feet earlier drained me, just as this entire conversation has.

But I won't waste another moment arguing with him.

I force a weak smile to my lips as I whisper, "I miss drinking blood."

He smiles softly in return, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair as he lowers himself down to the bed beside me. "You haven't enjoyed eating your human food?"

"Not exactly," I shrug, "everything after that first night made me feel sick."

He nods, and for a moment we fall into silence again as his fingers steadily comb through my hair, his eyes studying my face, before he murmurs, "You are so beautiful, min älskling."

I smile, my hand coming to rest on his chest as I whisper, "I don't feel very beautiful at the moment, but thank you."

His own lips curve up as he speaks, his voice so soft, almost melodic, his long fingers never stilling in my hair. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world to me. You always have been." He sighs, his fingers running through my locks, trailing down to my jaw. "I never wanted anything so badly as I wanted you. You looked like the sun, shining in the middle of the night in your yellow dress. What ever happened to that dress?"

I roll my eyes, knowing he knows full well what happened to _that_ dress. "You destroyed it about half an hour later. Shredded it, if memory serves; my first lesson in your extreme impatience."

"Oh, yeah," he purrs playfully, and I laugh. He smiles that same dazzling smile he gave me the night in question, his fingers rising from my chin to trace my lips as he whispers, almost as if to himself, "There it is."

My eyebrow arches in question, and he continues, his voice quiet. "I wanted you the second I saw you. I wanted to taste you," he whispers huskily as his fingers make their way to my neck, lingering over my pulse. "I wanted to feel your skin beneath my hands. Feel your lips on mine. I wanted to fuck you, of course," he adds with a leer, before it fades as he murmurs, "and then you laughed. I don't even remember what I said that made you laugh."

"I do," I reply softly, remembering every word that came out of his mouth that night perfectly. "You told me I looked like a princess that escaped from her tower. I told you that I had heard some shitty pick-up lines but that one took the cake."

"I was trying to be charming," he answers indignantly, making me laugh again, his own smile growing at the sound. "When you laughed, when I saw your smile, I was done for. I knew I had to have you. And not just for one night. I had never heard such a beautiful sound."

"Eric," I say shyly, unused to hearing him speak of me this way.

"Love at first sight, was it not, min prinsessa?" he asks softly as his fingers trail through my curls.

"Yes," I whisper as I try to scoot closer to him, before he sees me struggling, wrapping both of his long arms around me to pull me against him, his cool skin soothing against my feverish body. My lips brush against the stubble of his chin as I murmur, "You swept me off my feet."

He chuckles, the sound of it rumbling through his chest and into mine. "And you knocked me off mine. I didn't know what hit me."

I smile too, before it fades, my fingers rising to stroke his cheek lightly. "I'm so thankful for the life you gave me, min prins. For everything you gave me."

He smiles softly, his sadness cutting through me once again as he whispers, "Nothing I've given you can compare to what you've given me." He leans forward, pressing his lips tenderly against mine. He doesn't pull back, murmuring his next words against my lips, his fingers still stroking my hair. "You think I saved you, but it was you that saved me. You say your life began the moment you rose vampire, _my_ vampire...Pamela, mine started the second I saw you. The moment I heard your laugh, saw your smile..." He trails off, swallowing, his accent suddenly more pronounced. "Thank you. For everything. Thank you for loving me." He pulls away only slightly, one corner of his mouth quirked up, a sharp contrast to the pain swimming with bloody tears in his eyes as he adds, "Twice."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," I breathe in response, my eyes locked on his.

"Indeed," he murmurs, his voice hardly audible, "A thousand years I've lived and yet, my heart has only ever wanted for one thing." After my poor attempt at a smile, his gaze breaks away from mine to watch his fingers as they trail down my face, over my lips, and down my chin to my neck; his eyes intent, studious, as if he's memorizing everything under his fingertips. My eyes flutter closed under his attentions, his soothing ministrations coupled with his silence lulling me to the rest my body so craves, is calling out for.

"Are you tired?" his softly spoken question rouses me, just as I'm drifting off.

"Extremely," I whisper, not elaborating any further, not wanting to upset him by telling him how worn down I truly feel.

His fingers slide to my shoulder, gently pushing as he commands, "Turn over."

Without opening my eyes, I obey with much effort, turning on my other side, my back to him. His arms slide around me, pulling my back flush with his chest, his hand rising to brush my hair back away from my neck before he drops a kiss were my neck meets my shoulder. "You're very warm," he comments quietly, almost to himself.

"Fever," I answer feebly.

His lips still against my skin, and I feel a puff of cool air as he sighs before he drops his head, pressing his forehead against my neck. I can almost feel his thoughts as his emotions swirl through me, and I know without him saying so that he's struggling to come to grips with what I already have accepted is happening.

_Dying_.

It's almost as if the unspoken word reverberates between us, and his pain sears through me, cutting and slicing like swallowed shards of glass. I reach up, my fingers cupping his cool cheek, searching for something, anything to say, but nothing comes.

My fingers fall to my neck as he lifts his head from under my touch, his arm unwinding from around me and disappearing over my shoulder. He doesn't say a word; I only hear the snick of his fangs dropping and the tell-tale crunch of him biting into his wrist before it appears in front of me, the deep wounds welling sluggishly with his dark, thick blood.

My hand reaches out to grasp his wrist weakly, pulling it to me, but I don't yet put the wound to my mouth. Instead, I pull his palm to my lips, pressing a lingering kiss against his palm. As a thank you. As an apology.

My fingers tangle with his as I pull his now-dripping wrist to my mouth, my tongue darting out to lick away the blood that had spilled over before my lips close over the wound, drawing on it as strongly as I can manage; truly experiencing the taste of him for the first time in decades, all the memories of thousands of nights spent together so vivid at the now achingly familiar taste of his blood. His flavor reminding me of so many nights where, so lost in each other, we didn't even register the sunrise, sometimes not stopping until we almost collapsed from the bleeds.

My teeth almost ache at the memory of my fangs buried in his throat, his shoulder, wherever I could sink them as he was buried inside me to the hilt; sometimes taking me hard, fast, viciously; but sometimes more slow and tenderly than one would think he was capable of. But regardless, never did I feel more at home than I did in those moments. Him inside me, his arms around me, his weight on me. The taste of him on my tongue, the blood that gave me life, sustained me. There are no words, no cliché expressions that could do justice to what it felt like to be so completed by another being. Just…_home._

I can feel his lips brushing my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. His blood gives me a tiny burst of energy, and my grip on his hand strengthens as his fingers tighten around mine, pulling harder on the wounds he made, greedily swallowing mouthful after mouthful; the dark, rich flavor of him spreading through my body. Even through his jeans, I can feel his growing hardness as his hips press into me, instinctually seeking friction. My tongue laves across the healing puncture wounds, and I hear his ragged moan at my ear before his fangs scrape against my lobe.

As the flow of blood begins to slow, I break away, feeling his blood drip down my chin as I whisper, a sudden desperation clearly audible in my tone, "Eric, please."

His nose slips into my hair, inhaling deeply, his muffled words coming out in an exhale of breath. "I don't want to hurt you, min söta…"

"Please," I beg softly, suddenly gripped with the fear that this is our last chance. That I may never get the chance to experience that feeling of utter completeness again. That I'll die without being able to make love to him one last time, knowing who I am, knowing our history, knowing this love of ours that has spanned centuries.

After a moment, he nods, gently pulling his hand from mine. I can feel him roll away, unbuttoning his jeans and raising his hips off the bed, pulling them down before kicking them off. He turns back to gather me in his arms, his long, cool body pressed against my back. His hand hooks under my knee, pulling my leg back over both of his, before it slides up, gripping my chin gently, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder as he whispers, "Are you sure?"

"Ja," I breathe in his mother tongue, watching him as his eyes flutter closed momentarily at the sound. "Jag behöver dig, min prins. Vänligen."

He nods as he pulls himself up on one elbow, his lips finding mine as he leans over me, his hand sliding up into my hair as his tongue brushes my lips, begging for entrance that I immediately grant. His hand falls, his fingers tracing my neck to my chest, as his other hand on the arm he's propped up on gently cradles the back of my head as our tongues dance together. As he pulls back, sucking on my bottom lip, his hand slips lower, palming each of my breasts in turn, pulling a moan from me as my hand rises to bury in the hair at the nape of his neck.

My eyes close as he breaks away from my mouth, placing soft kisses along my exposed neck as his fingers gently tug at my nipples until they're both hardened peaks, before running his palm over them again, his hips flexing into me, his erection pressing into the small of my back. Slowly, his palm slides down my stomach, his long fingers parting my folds, a quiet sigh escaping my lips as he begins rubbing slow circles over the sensitive flesh.

"You make the most beautiful sounds," he whispers, almost to himself, almost as if he didn't mean to speak out loud. My lips part to speak, but his fingers venture lower, cutting myself off with a strangled moan as they sink inside me, beginning to move back and forth slowly as his lips travel lightly across my shoulder, his voice rough when he speaks again. "I love your skin." His fingers never stop their slow assault, occasionally withdrawing to circle my clit before entering me again, his tongue dragging slowly up my neck as he husks, "I love the way you taste."

"Eric," I whisper, too caught up in the sensations he's bringing me to finish the sentence.

"I love the sound of your voice. I love hearing my name on your lips," he murmurs as he suddenly pulls his hand away, smiling against my throat as I whimper. "I even love to hear you whine. I love to hear you laugh. I love to hear you cry over your movies meant for tiny humans."

I can't help but giggle, although it's cut short with a gasp as I feel him reach behind me, gripping his length, sliding his swollen tip against my entrance. "I love your body," he whispers as he rubs his head against my nub, causing my back to arch away from him as I groan. "Every inch of it." He pulls back, his tip dragging back to just barely enter my wetness before retreating again, his fangs scraping my throat. "I love the way your body reacts to mine," he murmurs, "like magnets. Like the ocean and the shore," he adds gruffly before he starts to sink into me, almost _painfully_ slow, taking his time to feel me stretch to accommodate his length and girth.

He pulls out almost completely, before he pushes forward, filling me completely this time, burying himself inside me until there's no room for him to go any further, holding himself there as his lips find my shoulder again, groaning against my skin, "Made for me. You were fucking _made_ for me."

"Yes," I breathe, my hands clutching at his arm as it bands around my waist, pulling me closer, pressing him impossibly deeper inside me. A moan escapes my lips as I press back against him, begging him to move as he holds me in his iron grip, groaning out my words, "Please. For fuck's sake, Eric."

He chuckles darkly, his hand sliding down to span across my stomach, holding me in place as he slowly withdraws before entering me again, and again, his thrusts somehow slow yet strong, hard and deep yet gentle at the same time. His lips never still on my skin, moving restlessly from my neck to my shoulder, down my back, across my throat; dragging his fangs harmlessly across my flesh; never biting.

His hand slides further down, gripping my thigh as he hitches my leg even higher over his hip, shifting his body slightly further down the mattress so he can dive deeper, so I can feel every inch of him sliding against me. A strangled gasp escapes my lips at the sound of his voice as he whispers hoarsely, "You feel so fucking good," his fingers lowering once again into my folds, stroking me in time with his thrusts.

Only my moans, his occasional grunt, and the sound of our bodies coming together break the silence of the room until I whisper to him, "Eric, please."

"What do you want, min prinsessa?" he growls against my ear. "Tell me."

"More," I breathe softly, turning my head to capture his lips over my shoulder, my tongue tracing the tips of his fangs.

"I don't want to hurt you," he answers, his voice dropping the purr, sounding choked again, although he never stills in his movements. He pauses, moaning against my lips, before he whispers, "I don't want to cause you more pain, my love."

"I'm fine," I whisper, although I'm pretty goddamn far from fine. "I'm okay, please..."

Groaning as he pulls his fingers away, his hand finds mine, tugging on it gently. He places my own fingers between my thighs, his hand covering my own as he pushes me to set a gentle rhythm, slowly circling my clit; moaning at the pressure he applies, pressing my fingers into the sensitive flesh. After a moment he releases me, his fingers still following my movements, a motoring growl erupting from his chest as he feels me touch myself underneath his fingers.

"Don't stop," he warns as he pulls his hand away, and I don't; leaning back to rest my head against his hard chest, my eyes closing as I lose myself in the sensation of pleasuring myself as he fucks me, his thrusts still slow and steady, not too hard for my weakened state, but yet not too soft. My eyes open when I feel his skin against my lips, his wrist, dripping with blood once again as he murmurs, "Please, Pamela. Again."

I nod, and he presses the wound more fully against my lips; a rough, almost pained sound escaping his lips as I draw hard on the wound. My fingers quicken as his pace does, slipping further down to feel where our bodies join, delving into the wetness there to caress him as his length dives in and out of me, before rising back to stroke myself in earnest, feeling myself getting closer.

"_Fuck_, Pamela," he grits out, prying his wrist away from my lips, the wound having long since closed, and I squeak in surprise as he's suddenly hovering over me, his hands gently moving me onto my back as he supports his weight on his elbows.

His hands tenderly push my mussed hair back from my face, and for a moment he stills, and in that moment I almost miss having him behind me so I don't have to see the utter devastation in his eyes. Gently, he pushes my legs apart, leaning on one elbow to softly touch me where I was just touching myself. I moan as he caresses the overly-sensitive flesh, before he grips his cock, rubbing it against my slick entrance as he whispers, "Tell me to stop and I will, sötnos. Just say the word if it's too much."

"Please don't stop," I beg. "Eric, please," I add when he doesn't move, my hands clutching at his arms, trying to pull him into me. "This could be the last..."

Without warning, he buries himself completely inside me, his hand gripping my chin roughly as he effectively cuts off my cry of pleasure and pain with his lips, snarling against them, "_Do not_ fucking say it."

"I—" I choke out as he begins to move, his eyes reflecting back the same desperation that must be visible in my own as he slams himself inside me, over and over, his arm hooking underneath my leg as my hands find the back of his thighs, trying to pull him even closer, the pain of his assault far outweighed by the pleasure; my pleasure, his pleasure, and the suffocating love and need in our bond.

"I love you," I moan, reaching up to frame his face. If he won't let me speak the truth of what is happening, I'll speak the only other truth I believe in, chanting it over and over as he takes me, his movements getting less controlled, less rhythmic. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

I watch as his face crumples before he lowers his weight onto me, and I groan in pain although I don't dare push him away. His hand slips between our bodies, touching me softly even as his movements get rougher. I'm close, I'm almost there, and so is he; I can feel it through our bond, only spurring me forward. His nose is buried in my hair, his unneeded, ragged breaths at my ear, and I can hear his tears in his voice when he quietly replies, "Oh, baby. I love _you_." His movements slow, and he whispers softly as his thumb strokes over my nub, "Kom för mig, min kärlek."

As if it was a maker's command, my release washes over me like a tidal wave, milking him of his as he spills himself inside of me. There are no screams of each other's names; just my soft sigh, and his quiet groan against my neck.

For several moments, I hold him against me, studiously ignoring the dull ache his considerable weight on my body causes me, my arms around him, my fingers slowly stroking his hair. I want so desperately to speak; to tell him how much I love him a thousand times more, how much I regret the time we've lost together, how thankful I am that he found me that night, that he wanted me to be his child. And not only that, for the way he treated me from our first night on. With a respect and tenderness that most vampires don't show their progeny. He treated me as his equal, although never have I deserved it.

This man gave me everything. Everything I am, he made me; not by changing who I was or molding me into what he wanted me to be, but by setting me free to be who I _wanted _to be, encouraging me, loving me.

How do you say thank you for that? For him allowing me to be the one, the only one, that he chose? For two hundred years at the side of a man as great as him?

_How do you begin to say goodbye?_

He breaks me from my thoughts when he rises up off of me, and I gasp as he pulls out of my body, already missing the feeling of him inside me. My eyes stay locked on his, brimming with bloody tears, as he lays down beside me, gently rolling me onto my side before he pulls me to him, my back against his cool chest as he curls around me protectively, his impossibly long legs tangling with mine.

I shiver, not sure if it's from the coolness of his skin, or a symptom of the fever, and he whispers, "Are you cold?"

"Yes," I murmur, and he sits up slightly, pulling the pink sheets and comforter up around us, carefully tucking it around me so tightly I couldn't move if I wanted to, a funny little frown of concentration on his lips as he works. Satisfied, he lays back down, cradling me to him once again.

His lips softly brush my ear as he whispers hoarsely, "You should sleep, min söta."

At his words, the tight rein I had kept on my tears suddenly breaks, a strangled sound resembling a sob escaping my lips.

Without a word, he turns me in his arms, his nose inches from mine as he struggles to keep up with wiping my tears away as they fall. "Hey," he whispers, his own voice quivering as he seems to struggle with what to say, knowing that there's no words to pacify me in this moment. "I'll be right here. I won't leave you alone. Rest, baby."

"I can't," I whimper pitifully, my eyes widening as I struggle to keep them open. They're so heavy, my body so exhausted, all in the world I want to do is drift off to sleep.

"You can," he answers softly, but firmly. "Close your eyes."

"I can't," I repeat as more tears spill down my cheeks. "I'm afraid."

I can see the memory swirling behind his blue eyes, just as vividly as I can see it myself. The end of my first night as a vampire, _his _vampire, terrified to close my eyes, struggling against the urge long after the sun had come up, long after the bleeds set in. Petrified that if I closed my eyes, that I wouldn't open them again, despite his promises that I would rise again the next night, that we would start our fun all over again. His murmured _close your eyes, _answered with my whispered _I'm afraid._

Two hundred years later, I'm terrified of the same thing. But this time, for very different reasons.

"What if I don't—" I begin, but he cuts me off with his lips, pressing them softly against mine. When he pulls back, his own tears have spilled over as he pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear.

"I'll be right here," he reiterates brokenly, and I can tell without asking he won't make me any promises he can't keep again.

Suddenly, I blurt out, "I saw the sun."

"You did," he remarks softly, before adding, "For that, I am glad." He's silent for a long moment before he murmurs, "I can hardly remember it anymore. What was it like?"

"Beautiful," I answer just as quietly, a weak smile crossing my lips. "There were birds singing. To feel the sun on my skin again, Eric, the warmth…"

"The sun on your skin was the second most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says quietly, "Second only to the moonlight on your skin."

I smile at his words, knowing that, as nice as the sun was, just like he said earlier this evening, I belong in the moonlight. Some vampires live their lives lamenting their loss of the sun; however, I thrived in the moonlight. I thrived with_ him_. "I love you so much," I suddenly whisper as my eyes slip closed despite my desperate attempt to keep them open. I can't fight it anymore, the battle is lost. I try to force them back open to see his eyes one last time, but I find it impossible.

I can feel his fingers still combing through my hair, lulling me into the sleep I only want to run from as he answers, his voice more feeble than I've ever heard it sound, "I love you, Pamela. More than I can say." His voice drops so low I can barely hear him when he whispers, "Sömn nu, min prinsessa. Låt gå."

I barely nod, forcing myself to relax, letting the exhaustion, the pain, I've been fighting take control as his fingers soothingly stroke my hair.

The last thing I hear before I drift off to a deep, peaceful sleep, is his broken whisper, his voice choked with the tears he must have been holding back for my sake.

"Please, Pamela. Don't leave me. Lämna mig inte ensam, sötnos_._"

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**A/N: Ouch. Can I haz review so I don't die now, please?**

**Din prinsessa. Din älskling. Din söta. Din jävla _sötnos_. – Your princess. Your darling. Your sweet. Your fucking _baby_.**

**min mästare – my master**

**Ja. Jag behöver dig, min prins. Vänligen. – Yes. I need you, my prince. Please.**

**Kom för mig, min kärlek – Come for me, my love.**

**Sömn nu, min prinsessa. Låt gå. – Sleep now, my princess. Let go.**

**Lämna mig inte ensam, sötnos_._ – Don't leave me alone, baby.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: JFC, I am so sorry for the delay in getting this out. Thank you all for your kind reviews, favorites, and follows. This was supposed to be half of one chapter, but as per usual for me, it started getting out of hand and I didn't want to sit on it any longer. Do forgive any glaring errors, I was up way past my bedtime proofing this. Hope you enjoy :]**

* * *

If the night I thought Pamela was gone was the longest night of my existence, this had been the longest day.

She had only woken up once since she drifted off, not long after the sun came up. I had unwound my body from around hers when I felt the blood beginning to pool in my ears, not wishing to have her awaken covered in blood on top of everything else she was going through, although now that she was back to her old self, I somehow doubt she would truly mind.

And although I had tiptoed as quietly as possible to the bathroom adjoining her bedroom, she had stirred; the sound of the shifting sheets reaching my ears just before her pained moan of my name. I had grabbed the washcloth which I still hold in my hand before instantly returning to her side, climbing back into bed beside her, my back up against the iron headboard, the curls and curves of which are still digging into my back at this point, hours later.

But I wouldn't dare move. Seconds after I had sat back down, she rolled over, laying her head in my lap, never quite regaining consciousness before she fell asleep once again, her warm fingers curled around my thigh.

For hours, I've sat here, listening to the weak, erratic beats of her heart; pressing my cool palm against her forehead and neck when she felt more feverish, and tucking the blankets more around her when she started to shiver, almost wishing I was human myself so I could use my body to help keep her warm. I could feel, even in her rest, her acute misery and discomfort through our bonded blood, stronger even than it was the night before when she was awake, when it was all but suffocating me.

As a man who had spent the past millennia getting exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it; as a man who was used to telling everyone surrounding him to jump and expecting, demanding, a 'how high' in return, I had never experienced such a feeling of helplessness. My child, my beautiful, perfect child, lies _dying_ in my lap, right before my very eyes, and I'm powerless to stop it. Incapable of helping her, of taking her pain away.

I could swear she was growing more and more fragile looking, more breakable, as I watched her sleep; toying absently with her hair as she rested, her flushed cheek pressed against my bare thigh, her occasional sighs of pain puffing out warm air against the fine blonde hairs on my leg. Every once in a while, my fingers would depart from her curls just long enough to linger in front of her lips to assure myself she was still breathing, still taking in the oxygen she needed as a human to survive.

While part of me was monitoring her waning vital signs, the other part of me was monitoring the sinking ball of light in the sky, willing it to move quicker, willing it to be sundown. And while part of me was wishing with all of my might that it would get here already, so we could get a move on and do something, _anything_, to help her, the rest of me became more consumed with dread every moment that ticked by, bringing sundown closer and closer.

Although it's impossible to deny the truth looking down at her face, the truth that she's truly suffering, that she's dying; that part of me fears what's to come. I, once again, find myself at the will of a human. I had taken this woman's fate into my own hands centuries before and changed it, altered it, and now it has been handed over to another person. Taking her downstairs to them when they arrive will feel like handing her over to them, handing her life over to someone I can't trust.

If she dies at their hands, I will have been her executioner. Even if she survives long enough for me to turn her, if she doesn't rise, I will have _murdered_ her.

Soft footsteps coming down the hallway outside our closed door reach my ears, and I don't bother to look up or be on alert, the sound of the advancing tread as familiar to me as my own. I still don't look up as the door cracks open, or when Godric's melodic voice filters through.

"How is she?" he whispers from the hallway.

I don't answer, not because I didn't hear him, of course, and not because I'm trying to be petulant...I honestly don't know the answer, and anyway, answering _that_ question in an honest manner would require forcing my lips to form words they are unable to make, words every cell of my body vehemently rejects, wholly denies.

_Dying._

"Eric?" Godric calls quietly as he pushes open the door a bit more. "May I enter?"

"Yes," I murmur, my eyes still on the angelic face of my child sleeping, for the moment anyway, soundly in my lap as I study the dark circles under her eyes, the hollowness of her cheekbones that wasn't there before, that I almost have myself convinced is growing worse by the second. But even still, her beauty has me transfixed, just as the slow, uneven rise and fall of her chest with each ragged breath has me hypnotized.

I couldn't say how much time passed after that, my finger slowly stroking her feverish cheek, not even registering Godric beside me until I feel him tilt my chin up to force me to look at him. He smiles softly, sadly; before his fingers pass through the blood on my face.

"What's all this?" he asks wryly as he rubs the blood between his fingertips, before his hand cups my cheek.

Unable to help myself, I lean into his touch, although it doesn't bring me the comfort I'm seeking. My eyes close as he shifts his hand, running his fingers through my hair, his hand coming to rest on the back of my neck.

His soft sigh causes me to open my eyes and look up at him as I finally answer with one word, my voice barely a croak.

"Bleeds."

"Sure," he says sarcastically, and I can feel his eyes on me still as my gaze lowers once again to my lap. He allows it for a few moments before he runs his fingers through my hair once again, curving around my jaw to tilt my chin up.

He smiles kindly when my eyes meet his, searching them silently for a moment until he whispers, "I am sorry this is happening to her, my son."

I nod slowly, swallowing thickly as I reply, "I'm sorry I _let _this happen to her."

"Nonsense," he answers softly. "She was protecting you. You would have done no less for me."

"You would never have allowed me to get attacked by one of _your _enemies," I snarl as quietly as possible, already wishing he would just leave me alone to my misery.

He chuckles before he answers. "_You_ would never have allowed me to stop you from protecting me, would you?"

"Fuck you, Godric," I growl lowly, hating it when he's right, hating it even more that he _knows _I hate it when he's right.

His fingers still linger on my chin as he ignores my outburst, his smile slowly fading from his face. "I am sorry it took this to bring us back together," he says, his voice hushed.

"As am I," I answer honestly, holding his eyes.

"I have missed you, my child," he whispers. "I should have taken my chances and came here long ago." He pauses for a moment, both of our gazes dropping to watch Pamela as she shifts, moaning softly in her sleep, a sharp pain cutting through me from our bond. His eyes stay on her as he adds, "I regret that I never knew her."

"She knows of you," I murmur, "I made sure of it. She used to beg me to tell her stories about you," I say, a slow smile crossing my face as I remember. "When she was new especially, but even recently. She was always very curious about my life before her."

He releases his hold on my chin before he perches on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his hand down her blanket-covered hip. I have to bite back a growl, and he grins at me, no doubt feeling the spike of possessiveness that courses through me seeing him touch her.

"What happened up here last night?" he asks cautiously.

"Hmm?" I ask absently, my eyes already back on the sleeping Pamela.

"Last night," he repeats patiently. "Your emotions were shifting so rapidly I couldn't keep up."

My eyes never leave her face, my fingers sinking into her soft curls once again as I whisper, "We bonded."

"And?" he pries gently, obviously knowing there is more.

"She remembered," I answer softly as her hair curls around my fingers. "She remembered everything. My blood broke the spell that stole her memories."

"Oh," he breathes.

For a moment, silence falls between us, my fingers resuming their stroking through her hair, watching her closely as her long eyelashes flutter in her sleep.

"She wants to be with me again," I whisper, breaking the silence, almost feeling desperate to say the words out loud, to assure myself last night wasn't some sort of cruel dream. She remembers me. And she still wants me, wants _us_, for however long we have left.

"Again?" he questions, and I realize he has no idea what's gone on between us over the last few decades. On the rare occasion that we spoke on the phone, when we spoke of her, I never admitted it once she had left my side. I could never bring myself to say the words, only telling him whatever she had done at the time to make me proud; omitting the painful truth.

"We hadn't been...it had been a while," I say with a noncommittal shrug.

"Oh," he breathes again, and I can feel his curious eyes on me. "I wasn't aware...I just assumed..." He stutters for a moment, so uncharacteristic of this man who plans out his every word before they leave his mouth, before he clears his throat and finishes, "I wasn't aware you two weren't...together anymore. Your feelings for her had not changed."

"Yes, Godric, I am well aware of that," I growl. "Turns out, hers hadn't either. We just had a...misunderstanding."

"Oh."

"If you say 'oh' one more time I'm going to fucking stake you," I snarl under my breath, my irritation making itself known verbally since I know he can feel how much I desire just to be left alone with her.

"I felt it, you know," he says quietly, breaking me from my internal dialogue of sudden and misplaced rage.

I look up at him, confused. "Felt what?"

His smile is indulgent as he meets my eyes, chuckling lightly. "The moment I lost you for good."

My hand stills as it rises to wipe the blood dripping from my nose for what seems like the millionth time, raising an eyebrow, wordlessly asking him to elaborate on whatever in the fuck he's talking about.

His smile fades as both of our gazes shift down to the sleeping woman in my lap, and once again I find myself having to resist the urge to bat his hand away when he reaches out, running one pale finger down her cheek.

His voice is almost inaudible when he speaks, his eyes still studying Pamela. "I was in Greece. I could tell you were not _that_ far away, and already I was dying to come find you. Sending you away was the right thing to do, Eric, but that didn't make it any easier on me."

"Or me," I murmur, watching his finger as it drops to trace her jawline.

"Indeed," he whispers, his eyes finding mine for a long moment before dropping down to Pamela once again. "I can pinpoint the exact moment you saw her."

I almost roll my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

He raises an eyebrow, that serene smirk of his crossing his face. "I'm not." He's quiet for a moment, long enough that once again we both go back to watching her sleep, before he finally breaks the silence. "It stopped me in my tracks, your longing. My blood had been tied to yours for nearly nine-hundred years, and never had I felt you _long_ for someone that way, that strongly..." He trails off for a few moments before he finishes, not meeting my eyes, "...not even me."

I look up from my lap to study his face, although his eyes still stay trained on Pamela. I don't bother to deny it, to do so would be a lie. I loved my maker. For over half my existence, we were everything to each other. Father and son, brothers, lovers off and on. I looked up to him, although obviously not in the literal since. I aspired to be like him. He was my teacher, and always with a gentle hand. He taught _me_ to be a maker, although I know I'll never be half the maker, half the vampire, half the _man _he is. I loved him, I needed him, I desired him.

But I had _never_ felt true desire until I laid eyes upon that overly brave, ridiculously beautiful girl that night on that darkened street in London.

"I cannot blame you for that," he whispers as he studies her, not a trace of jealousy evident in either his voice or his blood, only a strong admiration for his grand-progeny as he finishes, "She is perfect."

"She is," I agree. "You told me that I would know when it was time, and you were right."

"I usually am," he replies with a soft smile, finally looking up.

"I felt drawn to her," I whisper. "I felt a pull."

"As I did with you," he says gently.

"She was meant to be mine," I say firmly. "I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her. I was captivated by her, by her laugh, by the way she moved...she was created for me. She was born to be mine."

"I do not put a lot stock in fate, Eric," Godric says softly, both of our gazes shifting back to Pamela almost simultaneously, "but perhaps some things do unfold as they were meant to. I traveled the world for a millennia before I found you. I have often wondered what brought me to that place, at that exact time to find you?"

I shrug, never having thought about it, really; a whimper from Pam momentarily distracting me as I press my palm against her furrowed brow, trying to absorb some of the heat radiating from her.

"Who is to say that I wasn't meant to find you, as well?" he asks thoughtfully a few minutes later, breaking my concentration on my task. "Who is to say _you_ weren't meant to be mine?"

I look up from her face, studying his contemplative expression as he stares down at her. "Perhaps it was fate that I find you. And maybe that was just my small part to play in all of this," he says, looking up at me with that crooked, wise smile of his. "If fate truly exists, who's to say it wasn't my fate to find you that night, to preserve you, to be the one to give you eternal life, so that you could walk this earth for nine-hundred years until you found her?"

For a long moment, he's silent, his eyes holding mine as I regard him, and I wonder if my gaze penetrates Pamela the way Godric's does me. As always, it's as if I'm trapped, left exposed for his inspection of every bit of me, right down to my hidden bones. My gaze drops from his, unable to withstand it, studying instead the familiar shapes of his tattoos on his exposed arms and chest, the dark ink in stark contrast to his pale skin.

When he speaks again, I look up at him, his eyes and his voice holding such ancient wisdom, such knowledge, that it's almost as if he knows more than he's telling me.

"Perhaps it was _you_ that was born to be _hers, _child."

I blink at him before my eyes drop back to the face of my progeny, the longing to see those sparkling blue eyes open and look at me the way only she ever has suddenly so strong it almost suffocates me. Longing just for the chance to _talk_ to her. I've missed her so much, the _real_ her, and my craving just to hear the voice of the woman that has been my best friend, my only companion, for the last two centuries is beginning to become overwhelming.

A drop of blood landing on her cheek pulls me from my ruminations, and I gently wipe it away with my thumb, assuring myself as I do so that it's from my nose, or my ears, and not from my eyes. Never taking my eyes off of her, I finally speak, my voice strangled even as my mouth quirks up in a sad smirk. "It would certainly seem so," I murmur. "I've always belonged to her more than she belonged to me."

"That has always been fairly obvious, just from what you told me," Godric replies, a smile audible in his tone.

I smile sadly, my eyes still searching her face, having to employ every bit of my willpower and selflessness to not try to rouse her. To tell her again how much I love her. I can't have possibly told her enough. How could anything ever be enough?

"I don't know how..." I whisper, the words pouring out of my mouth without my permission, so desperate are they to be spoken. I look up to meet Godric's eyes for a split second before I shake my head, looking away as I murmur brokenly, "I don't know what to do."

"Last night, you spoke of meeting the sun if she dies," he mentions nonchalantly, as if he couldn't care less either way.

"She _will not_ die," I snarl, loud enough that she groans, my eyes snapping to her as her hand clutches tighter at my leg, her eyelashes fluttering. I hold an unneeded breath as I watch her, the selfish part of me hoping against hope that she wakes, the selfless part of me praying she will stay asleep, get the rest her body craves.

He shrugs, his expression curiously blank. "But if she does, you sounded as if you had already made up your mind."

I can only blink at him for a moment, confused by his lack of concern. "I...she..."

"Ah," he says with a small smile. "You told our Pamela of your plans, did you not?" When I only glare at him in response, he nods knowingly. "I trust she did not approve?"

"No," I growl dangerously through gritted teeth, "she did not. She said it's not what she wants."

"It is also not what I want, but you didn't seem to mind _that_," he says, his smile widening, shaking his head slowly as he looks down at her. "I had no _idea_ the power she held over you. You would think _she_ was the one who held the ability to command you to stay."

For a moment, I merely stare at him, taken aback; not having considered that he would do such a thing. Finally, I whisper, "Why would you be so cruel?"

"Would you be so cruel to ignore the wishes of a dying woman?" he asks with that annoying smirk.

"Stop," I growl loudly, before I school both my expression and my voice, dropping it to an angry whisper. "Stop saying that. Stop talking about her like she's already..." I trail off abruptly, my mouth snapping shut, still unable to force the word to come.

_Dead._

She attracts both of our attentions when her heartbeat and her breathing both audibly stutter, long enough that I panic, jerking her swiftly up into my arms. Even the sharp movement doesn't rouse her, her head falling limply against my chest as I lower my head, pressing her lips against my ear, sighing in relief once I hear her soft breaths once again.

I look up to see Godric looking at us, stonefaced, his tone taking on a hard edge as he orders, "Calm yourself, child."

"How the _fuck_ can you expect me to be calm, Fader?" I all but shout, clutching her tighter against me. "Leave us, if you care so little. Leave me alone with my child," my voice dropping to a whisper as I finish, my hand rising to push her hair back from her face before it comes to rest on her feverish cheek.

"Eric," he says, much softer this time as he climbs to his feet, coming to a stop in front of me. "She is of my blood. Of course I care." He doesn't seem to care that I try to shy away from his touch when he reaches to swipe at the blood seeping from my ears. "You are bonded to her now, and she is only human. I advised you to calm yourself, because your anger and your fear is overwhelming to her, even while she rests."

His small hand grabs my chin roughly, not allowing me to move away this time. He reaches down to pick up the discarded washcloth on the bed beside me, tenderly wiping away the blood I've been ignoring from my ears, before swiping underneath my nose as I stare blankly at his chest, feeling every bit the chastised child.

"There," Godric says with a satisfied smile, tossing down the rag and patting my cheek. "Now, hand her over—"

"What? Why?" I ask, desperately trying to keep my out-of-control temper in check, for Pam's sake.

"You need to rest, Eric," Godric gently admonishes.

"I am fine, thank you," I reply stubbornly, holding her protectively against me.

"You've given her quite a bit of blood the past few days."

"And? She's fed me," I snap back, irritated by his coddling, as if I hadn't survived just fine without him for hundreds of years. "Just last night."

"You will be no good to her without resting properly," he says softly. "I will watch over her."

"No," I reply heatedly. "I..." I trail off abruptly, as I look down at her, remembering my promise to her the night before. That I would be _right here_ while she slept, the same thing I promised her all those years before, as the sun came up after her first night as my progeny.

I couldn't help but laugh then when she had cried, terrified she wouldn't wake up if she closed her eyes. Terrified, she told me later, that she had simply dreamed that night, that she would wake up in her own bed, still human, and without _me_; already as overly attached to me as I was to her right off the bat.

I hadn't slept that day, either. I had stayed awake, watching her at rest, studying her, memorizing her every feature as if she might disappear from my arms, as if I might never see her again.

I know all day today, I've done exactly the same. Because, as much as I want to deny it to myself, I can't shake the feeling that this is my last chance. To rest would rob me of precious seconds with her, seconds I can't afford to lose.

And I _promised_her.

My eyes never leave her face as I whisper to Godric, "I will be fine." Cradling her closer to me in my lap, I run my fingers through her hair, my fingers lingering on her cheek, almost burning hot against my cool touch as I speak softly, my attempt at an order coming out more questioning than I planned. "Leave us."

When he doesn't move, I finally glance up to meet my maker's disapproving gaze, my voice quiet, pleading. "Please. I need this, Godric."

He sighs heavily, before he nods reluctantly, turning to go. "Very well. You will need to wake her soon," he calls over his shoulder as he strides to the door, "I will come for you when the witches return."

As he shuts the door, I pull her closer as I settle back once again against the headboard behind me. It won't be long now until sunset, until the witches come back, until I have to hand her over to them. Until I have to watch her suffer, knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it.

As my fingers skim down the soft skin of her arm, I let myself hope for the best, to imagine everything going according to plan. Me turning her, her rising again as the vampire I created her to be all those years ago. Ruthless. Cunning. Everything going back to the way it was, the way it _should _be, all except one thing.

She wants to be mine again. Two decades are just a blip in my thousand year long life. A blink of the eye. The memories of our time together are still so fresh in my mind. I can remember so vividly waking up to her beside me every night, falling to our deaths wrapped in each other's arms. There will be no more separate houses. No more saying goodnight before dawn when we went our separate ways.

Twenty plus years had passed since our relationship had been intimate, but other than that, I realize not much had changed. Just like my epiphany a few nights ago, when we made love for the first time in so long, I realize again how little had changed between us despite the physical distance. We still loved each other. Lived for each other. And no matter how crazy she's always driven me, I enjoyed every second of every night we spent together. Her personality meshed perfectly with mine, something I realized the second we met. She amuses me. She makes me whole.

And now? I am on the cusp of having everything I have _ever_ wanted. But, we walk a thin, fragile line. No matter how hopeful I am, no matter how wonderful it feels to live that fantasy, everything may go wrong, and I may end up with nothing at all.

Her stirring in my arms breaks me out of my ruminations, and my eyes fall to her face as it scrunches up rather adorably, before her eyes slowly open. A weak smile crosses her beautiful features as she blinks up at me, before she speaks with a voice hoarse from sleep. "I could get used to this."

"This?" I ask.

"Waking up in your arms again."

I chuckle, leaning down to kiss her softly, speaking against her lips. "I was just thinking the same thing." As I pull away, I frown at the blood I left smeared across her lips, and raise my hand to wipe it away as she regards me curiously. Her own hand reaches up, her fingers trailing through the blood that must be dripping from my ears once again.

She looks down at her fingers as she pulls her hand away, soiled with my blood, as she questions quietly, "Why didn't you rest?"

"Couldn't," I answer her softly.

"Wouldn't," she retorts, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk.

"Wouldn't," I confirm, rolling my eyes when she grins, always so proud to know when she's right. "How do you feel?"

"Better than ever," she says sarcastically, but when she sees no trace of amusement on my face, she tries again. "Horrible. But I suppose that's to be expected."

"I'm sorry, min prinsessa," I whisper. "I wish I could help you."

She struggles unsuccessfully to sit upright in my lap for a moment before I help her, unwinding my arms from around her before grasping her waist, pulling her waiflike body against me to where she's straddling my lap, my hands automatically sliding behind her to support her, not wanting to find out if she's too weak to hold herself up. She flashes me a brilliant smile once she settles down; one that, despite the turmoil inside me, I can't help but return.

"So beautiful," I murmur as one hand leaves the small of her back to tuck her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her cheek, my eyes noting every difference in her. She's thinner than she was before. If all goes well when I turn her, she won't look the same as she always has when she rises. My eyes trail down from her face, following the graceful curve of her neck, to the twin dimples created by her collarbone, down lower. She might be thinner, sicker, but there's one thing that hasn't changed. Well, two things; two perfect, touchable…

"I dreamed," she says suddenly, and my eyes snap up to hers, my hand frozen in mid-air as I was unconsciously reaching for the objects of my desire. I arch an eyebrow, and she shrugs one bare shoulder, suddenly looking embarrassed. "I didn't realize I missed dreaming until just now."

Smiling at her indulgently, honestly just enjoying the sound of her voice, I press her for more information. "And what do you dream of, now that you can dream?"

She blushes as she looks away, and I grin, pulling her against me, my nose brushing against the warmth in her cheeks, ignoring her protests as she tries to bat me away. Finally, she gives up, relaxing against me as she says with a laugh, "Not what you're thinking, and probably hoping. Not this time."

"Oh?" I question her softly.

"No," she answers with a shake of her head that leaves her hair surrounding my face. "I dreamt of seeing you for the first time."

"Ah," I coo into her hair, "Something I would love to relive."

Her hands slide up to my shoulders, and she pulls away, regarding me curiously for a moment before she finally speaks. "We spoke of it so little over the years. I think what you told me when I was cursed was more than you have ever said about it. At once, anyway."

I shrug, looking away. "You hardly mentioned it either. I thought you didn't like to be reminded of your human life."

"I don't," she says softly, her fingers finding my chin to turn my face back up to hers. "I do, however, like to think about the _last _night of my human life."

"So do I," I whisper, my eyes dropping to her lips before back up to her eyes. "I think of it constantly, Pamela."

"You saved me," she whispers, leaning in to press her lips softly against mine, her tiny hands rising from my shoulders to cup my cheeks. Her lips part, and I can't contain the groan that escapes me when I feel her warm tongue brush mine as she deepens the kiss, before she pulls back fractionally, speaking against my lips. "You saved my life that night."

My hand glides up the bare skin of her back, fisting in her hair as she kisses me again, pulling her away as she attempts to deepen it. My eyes search hers for a moment, trying to figure out the words I want, I _need_, to say. My own secret that I've kept for almost two hundred years, what was on the tip of my tongue as she lay in my arms a few nights ago as I told her of how I found her, turned her. Made her mine.

"Pamela," I begin, my voice suddenly hoarse, "_You_ saved _me._" She snorts incredulously, but I don't let it stop me, now that I've started the words seem to be dying to fall from my lips. "All this time I've let you think I had my shit together that night I stumbled upon you. I didn't. Far from it."

She cocks her head to the side as she peers at me, before she asks, "What do you mean?"

Swallowing thickly, I hesitate for a moment. It's so hard for me to admit my faults and shortcomings, even to her, but I need her to know, just in case…in case the worst happens.

"I was lost, Pamela. Godric had sent me away…" I watch as she arches an eyebrow, I had never shared that with her before. I'm sure she assumed I left on my own accord, just as she had left me. "He sent me away, for our own safety. I was lonely, and unhappy, more unhappy than I had ever been in my existence. They were the worst years of my long life. I was on the brink of starvation. I think I was on the brink of losing my mind, losing control, I…"

My voice breaks as I see the tears shining in her eyes, and I shake my head as if that would stop her from letting them fall as I force myself to continue. "You were there, just when I reached my wit's end. I hadn't laughed, hadn't _smiled_, in months, maybe even years, and you made me laugh seconds after meeting you. If I wouldn't have found you that night, Pamela, if you wouldn't have made me laugh, fed me…I don't know what would have happened."

"Eric…" she begins, her hands rising to cup my face as mine do the same, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. "Why did you never tell me?"

"It didn't matter once I found you," I whisper, "nothing else mattered _but _you. You saved my life, min sötnos. More than I ever saved yours. I just…" I begin before the emotion in my voice causes it to crack, swallowing before I can finish. "I just need you to know that."

For a moment she's quiet, before she pulls herself closer, pressing her soft lips against mine before she murmurs against them, "I'm sorry you suffered, min prins."

My hands sink into her curls, pulling her against me, relishing in the warmth of her skin against my chest. "It was nothing," I whisper hoarsely, "nothing compared to what I felt when I thought I had lost you." My lips part from hers as my arms wrap around her, hugging her probably too tightly, my face turning to bury in her hair as I add, "I can't go through that again, Pamela. I can't. I won't survive it."

"Eric," she starts, trying unsuccessfully to pry my arms from around her, a hint of exasperation leaking into her tone, "I don't want to talk about this again." When I don't answer her, her voice drops lower, softer, as her hand rises to stroke the back of my head, her face pressed against my shoulder. "Whatever will happen will happen. We can't control it. And you will survive. I have to believe that."

I sigh softly into her hair, pulling back with all plans to argue despite her wishes, when suddenly her mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, her tongue brushing against my lips begging me for entrance, and probably begging me to shut the fuck up. And I do, my hands curling into her hair as I return her kiss, both of our desperation making itself known in its intensity.

As much as I want to protest, to scream my protests at her and anyone else who will listen; as much as I want her to believe me when I say that I can't, won't, live without her, I know she needs my silence. She's been so brave, and deep down I know her bravery in the face of what's to come is hinged on her belief that I will be okay. I can't take that away from her, not now, not when our time is so short.

As our kiss becomes more heated, I roll over, taking her with me. Supporting my weight on one elbow so as not to crush her when I know she's already in pain, my hand slides down her skin, my fingers brushing against her breast, my hips flexing into hers instinctively at the sound of the low moan it pulls from her lips. When I pull away, her eyes are on mine, their deep blue depths burning with so much love, so much devotion, the unneeded breaths I'm taking catch in my throat.

After a moment her hand rises up to cup my cheek, and I lean into her palm as my eyes fall closed, feeling the heat of her body against my face, my chest, everywhere. Warmth that, within a few hours, I'll be stealing from her once again. If we even make it that far. My eyes open again to stare down at her as her hand falls to stroke my chest, her eyes intent on her fingers as she traces the harsh lines of my body, trying to hide from me her trembling chin. I reach out, my fingers tilting her face up until her eyes meet mine, my eyes imploring her to say what's on her mind as my thumb strokes her jaw.

I watch as she shrugs, opening her mouth to speak before she closes it again, feeling the thousand things that go unspoken bubbling in her blood before she settles on saying simply, "I love you."

One corner of my mouth lifts ever so slightly as I reply just as softly, "I love you, min älskling."

"Despite all this bullshit," she adds, and I can't help but smile at the return of her usual eloquence, a ghost of a smile appearing on her lips in return, "despite all this, I'm…happy. Happier than I've been in a long time."

"As am I," I whisper, lowering my head to her chest before I repeat, "As am I." My lips linger above where her heart beats, the shallow thudding loud in my ears and against my lips, her heartbeats still irregular and weak, just as it was while she was sleeping. But even with the reminder that she's not well, I can't hide my grin as her slender fingers fist in my hair, pushing my head lower by her grip, guiding my lips to her breast. Obediently, my tongue darts out, swirling around her already erect nipple before pulling it into my mouth, fighting to keep my fangs up in my gums where they belong when she begins making those beautiful sounds I'd do anything to hear.

My hand slides lower, parting her thighs, my fingers gently caressing her before diving greedily into her warmth, smiling against her skin at her groan. But suddenly, I freeze, hearing sounds on the floor below me. I pull away from her breast, my eyes slowly rising to meet hers. "They're here," I whisper reluctantly, my voice shaking.

Her face falters for a moment, before she seems to collect herself, although I can feel her fear rip though me like a lightning strike. And I know she can feel mine, as well. After monitoring the sun in the sky the entire day long, her waking up in my arms made me lose track of the sunset. I thought we had more time. I thought I could make love to her one last time before the witches arrived and took her away from me.

For the briefest of moments, I want to keep her here with me. In this bed, surrounded by these fucking stupid pink sheets and pillows. Just her and me. Perhaps she'll allow me to lose myself in her like I used to, in her body, in her mind, in our bond. But her stuttering heartbeat, no doubt under strain from both her own stress and my own that I realize I've been pouring into her, brings me crashing back to reality. Who knows how long she'd have if I don't turn her over to the witches and their spell. Days? Hours?

"I need to get dressed," she whispers, her eyes locked on mine, glassy with tears.

Moving off of her and turning to sit up, I offer her my hand to help her do the same. "I'll help you."

"No," she says softly. "No," she repeats, more firmly this time. "I can do it."

I force myself to nod, watching as she swings her long legs off the edge of the bed, pausing to run her fingers through her tangled curls. She takes a deep breath, before she climbs shakily to her feet, and before I know it I'm on mine, following behind her as she crosses to her ridiculously large walk-in closet.

Her breathing is labored and loud to my sensitive ears as she pulls one of a thousand soft, pink velvety track suits from its hanger, and I'm only inches behind her as she holds it out to inspect it, afraid that her deteriorating body will betray her, that she'll fall or collapse and hurt herself.

"You're hovering," she murmurs as she bends to pull on the pants.

"Yeah, well. Deal with it," I retort as I pull the jacket from her hands, unzipping it before I hold it out for her. She slips her arms through the sleeves, and I turn her around to face me, taking it upon myself to zip it up for her, letting my fingers drag over her skin as I pull the zipper most of the way up.

She steps closer when I'm through, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her warm cheek against my chest as I pull her flush against me. The material of her clothes is soft and fuzzy against my skin and my hands as they run up soothingly up and down her back. We're both reluctant to pull away, relishing in these last few moments alone. I can hear Godric speaking to Lafayette and Jesus downstairs, and I know it's only a matter of time before he comes looking for us. I'm not ready. She's not ready. But we both know the choice is out of our hands.

Lowering my lips into her hair, I whisper softly, "I'll be right there with you. I won't leave your side, Pamela. I swear it."

"I know you won't," she answers, rubbing her cheek against me. After a pause, she whispers, "Thank you."

I nod, although I'm not sure exactly what in the fuck she's thanking me for, since I got her into this mess in the first place. Reluctantly, I pull away, but I lean down before she turns, bending to capture her lips, my hands rising to cup her cheeks, holding her in place.

I've always been a man that could use his words to get anything he wanted. I know how to talk my way out of any situation, how to turn on the charm to take anything I've ever desired from anyone. But in this moment, words fail me. Telling her how much I love her, how my fear has left me feeling like a helpless child, telling her again how much she means to me all seems redundant. There are no words, in any of the languages I'm fluent in, that can do the storm brewing inside of me any justice.

So instead, I kiss her, my lips soft against hers, but needy, begging. It goes on for so long that she's forced to grip my cheeks and pull me away from her, but if nothing else, it comforts me to see plainly in her eyes the understanding. She knows.

Even if I can't say the words, she knows. She's always read me like a book, even from the beginning.

She reaches up, her fingers dashing away the tears that I didn't know had fallen, before a small smile graces her lips. Her hand rises, and she licks the blood off her fingertips, a look of pure ecstasy crossing her face as she moans at the taste. And the next thing I know, I'm laughing. Forever my bloodthirsty little vampire, even when she's human.

She smiles brilliantly at me as my laughter fades to a smile of my own, and we silently regard each other for a moment before she turns, making her way slowly out of the closet. I watch her as she sits down at her vanity, leaning forward to peer at her face in the mirror, her fingers rising to pat the dark circles under her eyes.

"I look like shit," she comments with a frown.

"You look breathtaking," I whisper.

Her eyes rise to meet mine in the mirror, her eyebrow arching as she answers, "You don't need to breathe. Nice try, asshole."

"It's a good thing I don't, then, isn't it?" I reply, holding her eyes for a moment before I turn, intent on getting dressed myself now that she's safely off her shaky legs. But even still, I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I pull on the jeans from the night before as she brushes her hair. When I'm finished, I come to stand behind her, pulling the brush from her grasp as I take over.

"Jesus, Eric. I can brush my own hair."

"I know you can," I answer as I pass the brush through her long locks. "Just be quiet for once in your life."

We fall into silence as I work, the task both awkward and foreign, yet soothing to me at the same time. Her eyes fall closed, no doubt enjoying the attention despite her protests, and when I'm done I set the brush down, leaning over to kiss her neck as she gathers her hair up over one shoulder, fastening it there with an, of course, matching pink band.

Her exhaustion is already evident through our bond, and a frown pulls at my lips as I help her to her feet, opening my mouth to chide her for tiring herself out when I would have gladly helped her, but a knock at the door interrupts me before I can speak.

"Eric," Godric's quiet voice filters through, seconds before the door opens and he walks in. "Can I come in?"

"You appear to already be 'in', Godric," I reply, my focus shifting from my maker's face to Pamela as I feel her hands slip from mine. We both watch her as she makes her way across the room to him, surprising us both when she reaches him, slowly dropping to her knees at his feet.

"Sire," she whispers reverently, her eyes downcast.

Godric looks to me, curiosity written across his boyish features, and I shrug in confusion before realization seems to hit us both at the same moment. Although she's spent the past few days with him, she's never truly met my maker. Not knowing who she was, who he is, what he means to me and in return, what he means to her. Not knowing that, because of him, we both had been blessed with eternal youth.

"Dotter," Godric says quietly, reaching down to tilt her chin up, a tiny smile of amusement creasing his lips. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

She grasps his hand when he offers it to her, her eyes darting to mine, and I can't help but chuckle at the look on her face. For the first time that I can recall, my Pamela seems to be rendered speechless.

"Enough of this," Godric says with a quiet laugh, helping her to her feet, his hands still clasping hers as she steadies herself. "You act as if I am a stranger, child."

"I…" she begins, before she shakes her head. She seems to begin to say a few different things before she finally settles on one. "I'm glad you're here, Godric."

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, my dear," he answers with a youthful grin, releasing her, his eyes following her as she crosses back to me, my arms automatically encircling her tiny waist as I pull her against my chest.

My eyes fall to hers for a long moment, before they flicker back to Godric as he watches us together, flinching at the sad smile on his face, the sorrow in his eyes.

"Our guests are here," he says quietly.

"I know," I answer just as softly, holding Pam just a little closer.

"It's time," he whispers, his eyes dropping from mine. "I'll be downstairs."

I watch him as he turns to leave, swallowing thickly, trying to rid myself of the lump suddenly in my throat. I hear her groan, and I loosen my grip on her that had suddenly got too tight, forcing my eyes to meet hers. So much fear in them, fear that I can't chase away. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead before my lips lower to hers, desperation and the dread I'm feeling making itself well known.

Finally, I tear myself away. "I'm not ready," I manage to whisper.

A wave of assurance passes from her to me through our bonded blood, and I can't help but marvel at her. At a thousand years of age, my fear has left me cowering, afraid, feeling no more than a boy. But yet she, even at her age still a baby to me, facing so much pain, the possibility of her own death, is so brave, so strong, despite the agony I can feel she's in, despite the fact that she's dying before my very eyes. I'd like to think that I chose well, but some part of me has always known that it was _her _that chose me.

She smiles softly as she pulls away from me, reaching down to take my hand, proving her courage once again as she answers, her voice sure and strong, belying the fear that I can see in her eyes and feel in her blood.

"I am."

* * *

**A/N: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. Next chapter will be more action-y, and hopefully won't take me forevs to write. Review, por favor? Reviews give me that oomph to keep writing.**

**Fader – father**

**min princessa – my princess**

**min sötnos – my baby**

**min prins – my prince**

**min älskling – my darling**

**dotter – daughter**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Writers block seems to be fixed. Ugh, this chapter. No.**

* * *

It didn't take long for me to clean the blood from my face and ears, not nearly as long as I had hoped.

Even still, I stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror, checking my already spotless skin for blood for what must be the fifth time, dragging my feet, wondering how in the fuck I'm going to get through this. Pamela, reduced to being the strong one of the two of us. When _she's_ the one about to suffer, not me.

I almost chuckle at the thought. I'm suffering already.

Throwing down the pink, now bloodstained hand towel, I finally force myself to exit the bathroom, turning to pull the door closed behind me, before braving a glance at Pam. She sits on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked underneath her, her eyes trained on the floor.

When I come to stand before her, she still doesn't look up to meet my eyes. After waiting a moment, I sink down to my knees, lowering my head until I catch her eye. She almost startles, as if she didn't hear or see me coming until that exact moment.

"I thought you were ready," I whisper, attempting to smirk.

"I thought I was too," she answers back softly, shrugging as her eyes lower from mine. "It's strange to be afraid of dying when you've been dead for a couple hundred years."

Her frank words shake me, so much so I can't think of anything to say for a moment. "I…you…" I stutter, my voice cracking before I'm able to finish.

"What are you going to say, Eric? 'You won't die'? We both know that's not true. It's just a matter of how it happens. And rather I—"

"Please don't," I interrupt, my eyes falling to the ground between us, "Don't say it."

"Eric," she says in a level tone, her warm fingers reaching out to touch my chin until my eyes reluctantly meet hers, knowing before she even opens her mouth what she's going to say. "Eric, I might not...I might not rise."

"You _will_ rise," I answer heatedly.

"Eric," she repeats patiently, softer this time, her voice dropping to a whisper, "We might not even make it that far."

Standing, I put some distance between us in a hurry, glaring at her from across the room as I hiss, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because, Eric," she answers, her voice still quiet, "This could be it. This could be goodbye."

"But I told you—" I begin, before she cuts me off.

"I know what you said," she murmurs, her gentle voice belying the sudden fire in her eyes. "When have I ever listened to you?"

"Never," I answer, the ghost of a smile curving my lips as breathe in my native tongue, "Min envisa skitunge."

"That's me," she says proudly, gracing me with that gorgeous smile for a moment before it fades. She beckons me closer with one slender finger as she whispers, "Come here."

Obediently, I close the distance I put between us, wondering why I even bothered with it in the first place. When I'm in front of her, she reaches for my hand, entwining our fingers before tugging gently until I return to my knees. She pulls our hands up to her face, pressing her warm cheek against the back of my hand, before her eyes find mine.

"I have requests," she whispers.

I can't hide my smirk as I respond, "Demands. You never make requests, Pamela."

"I have _demands_," she corrects herself with a half-smile. "Permission to list them, Captain."

"Permission granted," I murmur unenthusiastically, reaching up with my free hand to sweep back a lock of hair that has fallen across her eyes, pretty goddamn sure I don't want to hear whatever she's about to say.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she presses her cheek into my hand, blowing out a puff of air before she speaks. "I...I don't want...if I don't rise, if I'm truly dead, I don't want..." She trails off, making a funny squeaking sound before she pulls unsuccessfully at my fingers that I've unconsciously tightened painfully around her thigh. "Eric, you're hurting me. Let go."

"I'm..." I begin, before my voice cracks, wanting with every fiber of my being to tell her I don't give a flying fuck about her requests or demands or whatever they are, as long as they start out _that_ way. Finally, I finish weakly, whispering as I rub my hand soothingly across her flesh, hoping I won't leave bruises, "I'm sorry, min prinsessa. I can't help it."

"It's okay," she murmurs, understanding in her voice, before she finishes what she was saying. "I don't want to be buried here. I fucking hate Louisiana, I always have. Don't leave me here in this shithole."

"Where?" I croak, the pain in my voice audible even to me as I try to force myself to be accommodating, although every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to even entertain her scenario.

"I don't care, just not here. Too many bad memories."

I nod, looking away from her. I moved here when she had left my side, and she only came once I called her back a few years later. She had no input on us settling here, my choosing to open a club here. _That_ was all me. So many years we spent pretending we both were okay, either apart or when we were back together again, when in reality we were both far from it. My mind wanders back to the night when she crawled in bed with me, carrying that box containing seemingly everything I had ever written for her. The smell of her tears, tears from before she was cursed, wafting from it. Had we made what could be the last years of her life so miserable?

"I don't want you to stay here, either," she says softly, interrupting my thoughts. My eyes find hers again, arching an eyebrow in question. "If I die, Eric, you need to get away from here."

I open my mouth to speak, unsurprised with nothing comes out; this conversation is just too much for me to process. She drops our entwined hands from her face, lowering them to her lap, and my eyes follow them as I swallow thickly, studying our connected fingers as I question her. "Why?"

I hadn't given much thought to what I would do, where I would go, but apparently she's done it _for_ me, as per usual. "You can't stay here, Eric. Surrounded by all this." Her chin jerks to insinuate the room around us, but I know she means 'this' in a broader spectrum. My home reeks of her, both literally and figuratively. Every square inch of it is decorated and designed by her hand. And I could barely stand myself the one night I've been at the club since she was cursed, her scent was so heavy in the air, her lipstick stuffed in my desk drawers, an extra pair of pumps behind my desk for me to trip over; even when I knew she was safe at home, waiting on me to return to her.

She's right. There's no possible way I could bear it if I knew she was gone.

"Godric will take you away from here," she murmurs, her eyes following mine to stare at our hands, the fingers on her free hand dancing along my arm. "Go back with him to Texas. Or go someplace new, I don't care. But you can't stay here. Promise me."

"I can't, min älskade..." I begin.

"You have to, Eric," she interrupts before she whispers, her voice getting softer and softer before it trails off completely. "You'll lose your mind here."

"I don't know what you expect of me," I growl, harsher than I honestly mean to, my anger at this whole situation getting the better of me. "You act as if I'll be able to just pick up and move on, Pamela, as if nothing happened. As if the last two centuries just didn't happen. As if _you_ never happened. As if I don't _need_ you."

"You'll have—"

"_You _will have no bearing over what I do or don't do after you are gone," I snap as I attempt to pull away from her, but her hand stays clasped around mine, somehow managing to anchor me in place with a strength that surprises me; although it probably helps that I've left myself somewhat shell-shocked by my words. "_If_ you are gone," I correct myself angrily, "_If _you leave me, Pamela, I can't, I _won't, _promise you anything. Could you? If our roles were reversed?"

"No," she answers, her voice soft, but I can feel the honesty in her blood as she continues, "No, I couldn't. But the roles aren't reversed, Eric. You lived a long life before I came into it. All I _know _is you."

"You expect too much of me," I say quietly, my hand tightening around hers, longing to pull her into my arms one last time before I have to let her go. "If I put you in the ground beside me again, Pamela..." I have to trail off for a moment, swallowing hard, before finishing, "I cannot see past you coming out of the ground with me. I can't make plans beyond that moment. You can't ask me to."

"I can," she answers levelly, "And I'm about to."

"Pamela—"

"No," she interrupts, her tiny hand darting out to grip my chin, "_Listen_ to me. If I don't make it through this, I want you to find her." I don't need to ask who she's speaking of to know she means our illustrious queen, the cause of all of this. "I want you to find her, and pick the meat off her fucking bones."

I can't help the smile that cracks across my solemn features, loving hearing _my_ Pamela in her voice again. That fire in her tone that made me want her, need her, more than anything I had ever experienced in my long life all those years ago.

My arms wrap around her, scooping her easily off the bed and into my lap, her legs settling on either side of me. I pull her close, whispering, "I've missed you so much, min prinsessa." Ignoring her slightly perplexed expression as I bury my face in her neck, I take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent that has been home to me for almost two centuries. I turn my lips into her hair, murmuring quietly, "I won't be doing that either. That's your job. She's yours. And you _will_ be there to pick her meat from her bones personally."

Trying to regain some sliver of confidence, my lips touch along her jaw as I add, "We will fucking slaughter her for what she's done. Together. And bathe in her blood. _Together._"

"It's been too long since you've fucked me in royal blood, min prins," she whispers, amusement coloring her tone.

"Ah," I breathe against her ear, "Yes. I remember. That cousin of a prince back in Spain all those years ago..."

"Yes," she murmurs as she pulls herself away enough for me to see her frown. "You told me royal blood tasted better, and he just tasted like fish," she says, pouting just as she did that very night well over a century before.

"Good. It will prepare you for how rancid Sophie-Anne's blood no doubt tastes," I say with a chuckle, my hand sliding up to encircle her neck, using my grip to pull her lips back to mine. It's amazing how quickly I was able to forget, however briefly. Even facing what we are, a few moments with her in my arms, of lighthearted conversation, and I can forget everything but her.

After our kiss goes on far too long, she pulls away, trying to catch her breath as her fingers clutch at my shoulders. She blinks, taking in my no doubt wild eyes and feeling the fear threatening to drown me.

After a moment, she whispers gently, "We have to go."

"I know," I croak, my voice weak as my eyes drop from her face, unable to meet her gaze. "I know we do."

"I love you," she says softly, suddenly. "I love you, Eric. If I don't get a chance to say it…downstairs."

"I love you, min söta," I manage to answer, forcing a sad smile to my face as I add in a whisper, "Soon, this will be over."

"Yes," she agrees with a slight nod, "It will be."

The consequences of what that may mean hangs heavy in the air between us, and for a moment, I look up to hold her eyes; deep, shining, sorrowful pools of blue that lack their usual sparkle, a not-so-gentle reminder that she's suffering. Every second I keep her here, hidden, selfishly keeping her all to myself, she's suffering.

With that in mind, I gently grip her narrow waist, easily lifting her waiflike body off of my lap and sitting her back on the edge of the bed, before I climb to my feet. I stop for a moment, reaching out to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing against her lips as I speak. "I need to go get dressed. Stay put," I add, ignoring her eyes rolling. "I'll be back."

My fingers linger against her cheek for a moment before I force myself to turn away from her, walking swiftly to the door despite my feet feeling like lead weights. And although I long to look back at her, I keep going, only stopping when I hear voices coming from down the stairs, the witch's quiet whispers doing nothing to keep my sharp ears from hearing every bit of their conversation.

"We shouldn't have come back," Lafayette says, his deep voice full of worry. "I told you we should have ran when they let us leave."

"No," Jesus answers softly, "We've got to help them."

"You got no fucking _idea_ what that motherfucker is capable of," Lafayette hisses, "You know who does? I do, that's who."

"It doesn't—" Jesus begins, before his lover cuts him off.

"It ain't gonna work," he says, "You knows that, baby, you knows it as well as I do."

"We don't—" Jesus tries again.

"He's gonna kill us," Lafayette says, "And probably not fast, neither. You can write that shit down."

"Boys," Godric's melodic voice suddenly filters through, "I can hear you, and if I can hear you, so can Eric."

"Aw, fuck," Lafayette whines, and he speaks again, but I don't hear him, not wanting to listen to another word. I storm the rest of the way down the hall, not stopping until I reach the closet. The seams in my jeans protest as I almost tear them off, grabbing another pair and forcing my legs through them. I pull down a shirt, and then freeze, smelling her before I hear her.

"I thought I said stay put," I growl, my statement coming out harsher than I mean it.

"You've lost your power to command me to do things, you know," she says softly, the hurt evident in her tone causing me to pause, turning to look at her. She stands in the doorway to the closet, clutching onto the doorframe, her eyes downcast. Just as she looked the night before, before we knew what was happening to her. Before she regained her memories. How could so much have changed so quickly?

I'm crossing to her before my brain registers my movement, one long finger under her chin tilting her eyes up to mine. "I've never had much power over you in that regard, it seems," I murmur, my voice much softer this time. I study her face, what little color she had left seemingly has drained from her cheeks, and when her eyes reluctantly meet mine, they're shining with tears, causing my heart to clench painfully at the sight.

"What's this?" I question her softly, my hands rising to cup her cheeks, my thumb catching a tear as it spills over, guilt flowing through me knowing my harsh tone put them there. "Pam... jag är ledsen, min kära…"

She shakes her head as best she can in my grip, her eyes falling to my chest as she whispers, "I heard them."

I freeze, realizing she heard everything I heard coming from downstairs, realizing she must have been right behind me the whole time. And where Lafayette's certainty that it the spell isn't going to work infuriated me…

A growl motors in my chest as I hiss, "They don't know what the fuck they are talking about."

"Let's hope that's not true," she says softly, her eyes still avoiding mine, "They're kind of our only hope, remember?"

My jaw sets angrily at her words; the unintentional reminder that _I_ can't save her, not by myself at least. But when her blue eyes rise to mine, I push my anger away, softening my features. I want to say something, give her some comfort, but there's nothing for me to say without breaking my promise to be completely honest with her about our situation.

Instead, I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her as my lips press against the top of her head, feeling her bury her face in my bare chest. I can sense her fear as clearly as I can feel my own, as well as her fatigue, which seems to be growing stronger as she clings to me, her warm tears dripping onto my chest.

When she starts to tremble with exhaustion, I back her over to the bed, sitting her down on the edge of it, and I can see the pain she's in shining in her eyes just as clearly as I can feel it in our bond as she looks up at me apologetically. I step away just enough to pull my shirt over my head, before I offer her my hand.

It's now or never.

I force myself to remain stoic as I pull her to her feet, pushing a lock of hair that had escaped from her ponytail behind her ear, giving her as close to a reassuring smile as I can manage before I turn, heading towards the door, pulling her along behind me. She follows without so much as a word, and I've certainly got nothing constructive to say in this moment, short of falling at her feet, telling her everything I've told her already one more time.

When we reach the landing, I turn around, scooping her up in my arms. I know without asking she's too weak to make it down them, and I doubt, in her damaged state, she could survive a fall. For once she doesn't protest, only tucking her head under my chin as I descend the stairs with her held tightly in my arms. I can feel the warmth of her small hand as it comes to rest on my chest, just above where my heart used to beat, and I know that's her own quiet way of trying to soothe the turmoil she can no doubt feel bubbling inside me.

But when I brave a glance down at her as I set her on her bare feet, she surprises me as she still so often does, all traces of fear suddenly wiped from her face as soon as she knows anyone besides me can see her. She straightens, and although her hand still clasps my forearm for support, she raises her chin, narrowing those icy blue eyes at the human occupants of the room.

"Boys," she purrs, and for a moment I can only stare down at her, feeling my eyes crinkling in amusement. She_'_s truly back. _My_ Pamela. From that stony exterior in front of everyone else but me, to that perfected bitchface that doesn't seem to have grown the least bit rusty in the days it spent unused.

I'm suddenly reminded of lying with her, asleep in my arms, wondering if I would miss that version of her when she was really back, and in that moment, I realize how stupid I truly was. That wasn't my Pam. _This_ is. And she still wants to be with me just as much as that version of her did.

Her voice, laced once again with that authoritative tone, breaks into my thoughts. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Without looking, I can feel Godric's eyes on me, probably wondering if I'm going to let her go or if he'll have to physically remove her from me. But before he can say a word, Jesus pipes up from across the room, and for the first time I notice what he's been doing.

"Okay," he says with a nod as he stands, having finished lighting the last wick on a ring of candles in the middle of the floor. He must catch some look on my face, because he suddenly says, "She's going to be fine…"

"Save it," Pam snaps, "We heard everything you said earlier."

"I—"

"Lafayette was right," I interrupt him, my voice deadly quiet, "about what will happen to you both if she…if this does not go according to plan."

Jesus' eyes shift momentarily to Lafayette's, before they land on Pam and I once again. He takes a deep breath before he says quietly, "Well, this will just have to go to plan then."

"We have wasted enough time," Godric says as he crosses to where we stand, "We do not have long before the dawn."

"Very well," I say reluctantly, wrapping my arm around Pam's waist. I don't have to look down at her to know she needs support; her exhaustion and weakness are permeating through me from our bond. "What does she need to do?"

"She needs to sit her lily-white ass in that circle," Lafayette oh-so-eloquently supplies, pointing towards the ring of candles he's standing beside. Nodding unenthusiastically, I help her over to the circle, but just as I go to step over the lit candles, Lafayette's hand is on my chest, stopping me.

He pulls his hand away like it burned him when I growl, wondering what in the _fuck_ possessed him to touch me, and quickly he speaks. "You can't…you can't go with her, boss."

"What?" I hiss.

"Nobody but Pam can enter the circle, sir," Jesus answers for him. When I turn to look at him over my shoulder, he adds, "She has to go alone. And until the spell is complete, you _can't_ cross the line of candles."

"No matter what happens," Godric says softly.

My eyes fall from them to Pam as she stands beside me, clutching onto my arm, that brave veneer she plastered on her face once we descended the stairs faltering under my gaze. And all I can think about is that I told her, I _promised_ her, I would be right there through all of this. I thought that I could hold her, bring her some comfort if she was in pain.

But now it seems I'll be forced to watch from the sidelines.

I turn towards her, my eyes wide as I reach up, my fingers shaking as they barely brush her cheek. Jesus shifting uncomfortably catches my attention in my peripheral vision, and when I turn to glare at the other occupants of the room, all three of them turn away, giving us a moment of perceived privacy.

My hands cup her face, my eyes searching hers as I search my mind for something, _anything_, to say. I hold her eyes for a long moment, before I finally shake my head at a loss, silently pulling her against me, pressing my lips against the top of her head. When I feel her hands rise to clutch at my shirt, I lower my head, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, "I'll be right here. Keep your eyes on me."

Pulling away enough to see her face, my hands cup her cheeks as she nods. "I'll be fine," she whispers weakly, unconvincingly, before her hands cover mine, squeezing them softly as she adds, "I love you, Eric."

"I love you, min prinsessa," I whisper back, leaning down to press my lips against hers, my hands caressing her face, trying to stop myself from wondering if this kiss could be our last.

Godric clears his throat, and reluctantly we break apart, her hand lingering in mine as she steps over the candles into the circle. I watch her, frozen in place, as she slowly sinks to her knees, sitting back on her heels, her hands folded in her lap. Godric's hand is suddenly on my shoulder, pulling me back to stand with him, although I can't tear my eyes from my child, the look of resignation on her tired, yet still so beautiful face.

"Are you ready, Pam?" Jesus asks gently as he takes a seat beside the circle, folding his legs underneath him. When Pam nods, he does as well, his eyes flickering to his lover's as he takes a seat in one of the chairs; leaving the spell, apparently, to the more powerful witch.

"Alright," Jesus says, blowing out a puff of air. He positions a small bowl in front of him, the contents of which I can smell strongly even from a distance; some sort of herbs and fragrant oils. He shifts to pull a book of matches out of his pocket as he begins to explain the process. "According to the spellbook, I light the contents of this bowl on fire and wait until the flame burns blue. Then I recite the incantation that will lift the spell making Pam human."

"The spell cannot be stopped once it starts," Godric adds, obviously more to me than anyone else, before his eyes turn to Pamela. "We don't know what will happen, my child. You may be in pain as it removes the spell from your body."

"Too late for that," Pam replies with a roll of her eyes, "I already am. How much worse can it get?"

Godric and Jesus share a look that makes my already cold blood turn to ice, and some expression must cross my face, because Jesus begins speaking again before I can say a word. "When the spell is complete, according to the text, the flame will extinguish."

"We get it," Pam snaps, sounding so much like her normal self it makes me ache, "Just do it already."

"Very well," Jesus sighs, and much to my dissatisfaction, Godric tugs on my arm, forcing me to cross the room and sit next to him on the couch, apparently my self-appointed babysitter for the evening.

The room falls eerily silent for a few moments, the only sounds reaching my ears being the steady heartbeats of the two human men, and the not-so-steady, ever weakening heartbeat of my Pamela. My eyes stay trained on her, while, disobedient as usual, hers flicker everywhere but me; from glaring at Jesus as he sits there with his eyes closed, down to her hands and back again.

And suddenly, I can feel it, the magic crackling through the air, radiating from Jesus, as if he has tapped into some inner source of power. Stronger than what I sensed from Marnie that fateful evening, giving me a strange sense of hope. Perhaps he _can_ fix this.

His eyes open, and even from across the room I can see that they've changed, no longer the dark chocolate brown that they were before; now almost glowing yellow with the power brewing inside him. He strikes a match with a completely blank expression, vacant; as if the mild mannered, soft spoken man I met a few days ago is gone and some potent, powerful creature has taken residence inside him.

Although my eyes stay on Pamela, from the corner of my eye I can see the contents of the bowl spark into flame, orangeish-yellow light radiating from deep within the vessel. And finally, my gaze is forced away from her when there's a sudden rush of wind around us as the flame suddenly burns high, morphing from yellow to bright blue, the lights in the room seeming to dim, the flame illuminating Jesus' face as he begins to chant.

His voice is no longer his own; deeper, darker than it was before, in a language that even I cannot understand. My eyes find Pam's wide ones, watching as she blinks rapidly, her hand rising to cover her heart. And for the briefest of moments, I allow myself to believe this is the worst of it, this pain beginning to flicker through our bonded blood only mildly worse than what she had been experiencing all night.

But then it hits.

It seems to register in our bond seconds before it registers on her face, her features contorting in pain as her sudden agony floods me. I've been silvered, tortured unmercifully in my lifetime, but nothing compares to this. I feel as if I'm being ripped apart from the inside out, and some part of me realizes I'm just experiencing it second-hand.

Everything begins to move very fast, choppy; like a movie skipping too quickly through its timeline.

I don't know how I ended up on my feet beside the circle, or when Pamela collapsed, clutching her head as she curls in on herself. All I know is pain, _her_ pain, her screams filling my ears as I try to reach her, and then Godric is there, his arms wrapped around my waist as he tries to pull me back.

"Eric," he hisses as I fight against him, blinded by pain, blinded by my need to get to her, fighting against his maker's command even as he utters it, "_Wait."_

As he speaks, his words are drowned out by Pam's pleas as they reach my ears. "Please," she cries, her voice hoarse from her screams, broken in a way I've never heard from her before, "Eric _please_, make it stop!"

"You are _killing _her!" I roar at Jesus, suddenly intent on making it to _him_, to rip his fucking head from his shoulders, whatever I have to do to stop him from hurting her. But as I take a step in his direction, it's as if Godric's command has anchored my feet to the ground, and I fall to my knees, taking him with me.

"_Pam_," I cry out when I look back at her, seeing blood now trickling from her ear and nose, her eyes going glassy, Godric's arms banding around me tighter. "Pamela, _look_ at me!"

Her eyes don't move, and my struggles against Godric are renewed, although they're futile; his strength is twice that of mine. "Godric," I manage to choke out, "She's _dying."_

"_Wait,_" he repeats, his voice coming from close to my ear as I go weak in his arms, feeling the life being sucked out of me, renewed horror coursing through me when I realize what I'm actually feeling. _Her_ life being sucked out of me.

"Pamela, _please_," I whisper brokenly again, doing all I can to take on as much of her pain as possible, to free her from it, and this time her eyes flicker to mine just barely, her eyelids heavy as tears leak down her face. Even with all the commotion, and through Jesus' continued chanting, I can hear her heartbeat slowing down, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more uneven.

And as suddenly as it began, the flame goes out, the circle of candles extinguishing with it in a whoosh of air. My eyes fall on Jesus, looking at him with desperation as he shakes himself for some sort of sign, and then I feel Godric's command slip away as he releases me. It's over.

Already, I'm scrambling towards her on my hands and knees, sending the candles blocking my way tumbling to the side, spilling their wax on the carpet. As soon as I reach her side, I gather her in my arms, my hand smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Pamela," I whisper, as her head rolls lifelessly against my forearm, pressing my palm to her cheek. "Open your eyes, sötnos," I beg her desperately, "_Please, _Pam."

Her breathing is so shallow it's barely audible, but her eyes finally open to look up at me. "I'm sorry," she whispers weakly.

"No," I answer, shaking my head, "I can fix this, I can help you."

She coughs, her tiny body quaking with the force of it, and blood is suddenly leaking from the corner of her mouth, her eyes getting duller by the second as she manages to shake her head back and forth feebly.

"Eric," she attempts to say, her lips moving although barely any sound comes out. "My sweet prince," she manages to croak, and I blink in confusion as a sad smile curves her lips, blood gurgling in her throat and dripping down her chin as she murmurs, "It doesn't hurt anymore…"

"Pamela," I whisper, watching as blood drops onto her cheeks, and it takes a moment for me to realize that it's mine. I raise my wrist to my mouth, but before I can bite, she takes a shuddering breath.

"No," I choke out, watching in horror as the life leaves her eyes, her face going slack as her head rolls to rest against my chest. "_No_," I repeat, as if just the mere word would change anything, feeling our bond disappear for the second time in my life, leaving behind a gaping, painful hole. "Pamela…"

"She is gone," Godric says softly, suddenly at my side, his head cocked to one side as he listens for her heartbeat. His fingers reach out to touch her cheek lightly, before he finally looks at me. "I am sorry, min bror," he murmurs, his hand rising to pull my forehead to rest against his, barely registering the blood rimming his grey eyes through the numbness that has set in.

I can feel, more than see, him pull away, climbing to his feet; barely hear him order the two witches to leave, and to hurry, no doubt anticipating my next move. But all I can do is look down at my child in my arms. If it weren't for the blood staining her face, she'd look like she was sleeping. Resting in my arms, just as she had done for centuries when I'd wake before her and study her every feature until she'd wake up, catching me staring at her. I can almost hear her laugh ringing in my ears when she'd accuse me of being creepy.

I'll never hear her laugh again. Never see her smile. Never see those blue eyes dancing. Never feel her touch.

I'm suddenly consumed, the numbness wearing off as quickly as it set in. This can't be happening. I won't _let_ this happen. I brought her back from the dead two centuries ago. She came back to me when I thought she was gone forever before.

"Leave us," I hiss dangerously, not realizing there's no one left in the house but my maker.

"Eric," Godric says evenly, and I can feel him strongly now that his blood is the only other residing in me. His devastation surprises me, and I realize just how quickly he's grown to love her, too; although that knowledge does nothing to quell my rage at his next words. "It's too late, my child—"

"I have to try, Godric," I interrupt him, my voice sounding like someone else's entirely. "Do not try to stop me."

The double meaning of my words hangs heavily in the air, and as I look up at him, I know he truly hears me. I am nothing without her, I will _be_ nothing without her. To stop me from attempting to turn her, and to stop me from meeting the sun if I cannot, would be cruelty that my maker has never been capable of.

"Very well," he murmurs reluctantly, bending down to press his lips against my forehead. "Waste no more time, my son," he adds as he pulls away, his hand drops to cup Pamela's cheek. "Vila bra, lilla," he whispers to her sadly, his fingers gently shutting her wide, glassy eyes, before he turns away, walking silently from the room, leaving me alone with my child.

Leaning down, I press my lips against hers, and once I feel that they've already gone cold I lose whatever control I had left, tears spilling over and dropping onto her pale cheeks. "I am so sorry, baby," I whisper brokenly to her, "So sorry."

Without another word, heeding Godric's warning not to waste more time, I tilt her head towards me, exposing her slender neck. Forcing my fangs to drop, I pull her tightly against my body, sinking my fangs into her throat.

I drink until I can't anymore, swallowing every mouthful quickly, not even wanting to taste it on my tongue; not wanting the reminder of the last few times I've drank from her while she was warm beneath me, her blood hot in my throat, her whispers of my name still ringing in my ears. I don't want to compare it to now, cold and so _lifeless_.

As I pull away, I tear deeply into my wrist with my teeth, placing the wound against her lips, trying not to think as I rub her throat, forcing as much of my blood into her as I can get. She should be conscious for this, she should be drinking, but I can't let what Godric said be true. It _can't_ be too late.

Once my blood begins overflowing from her mouth, I reluctantly pull away, carefully wiping my blood and hers from her chin. For a moment, I can only sit there, holding her in my arms, staring down at her. I don't know how long I remained that way, frozen, my chest aching with the loss of her inside me, but eventually I began to feel the tug of the sun, those instinctual alarm bells shaking me from my stupor.

Slowly, I stand with her clutched to my chest, making my way out into the back yard. I find where Godric had disappeared to, locating him sitting on the grass beside a freshly dug grave.

He watches me with sorrowful eyes as I carefully lay her down inside, my eyes finally tearing from her face long enough to search the lightening sky, before Godric's hand on my chest causes me to look down at him.

"Get in," he orders softly.

"Please…" I begin, but my voice breaks before I can finish. I clear my throat, looking away as I manage to choke out, "Please be here when I…when _we_ rise, Godric."

He smiles sadly as he nods. "I will be here, my child."

Nodding, I turn away from him, climbing in the shallow grave with her. I pull her body against me, her back to my chest, my arms wrapping around her. My eyes close when I feel the dirt begin to rain down on us as Godric recovers the grave, turning my face into her hair, trying to concentrate on her scent and block out everything else.

I can hear Godric's soft sigh when he's through, and his footfalls as he heads back in the house, and soon, the sounds of birds chirping as the sun begins to rise. The world continuing on, as if nothing has happened. As if it hasn't lost the only person walking on it that _matters._

I'm not sure I've ever felt so tired. I've spent a thousand years fighting the pull of the sun, but this morning, I gladly let its pull begin to take hold on me. I know I will rest for all three of these days, just as I did the first time I turned her; giving so much blood to another takes its toll on a vampire's body, and for this I am glad. I don't want to wake, don't want to feel, don't want to _remember_.

And strangely, I feel somewhat at peace. If she does not rise, my next night will be my last. I will follow her, and hope that I end up wherever she has gone.

But that peace doesn't drown out my irrational hope that she won't leave me. That, in three days, I'll see her smile again. That she'll be my vampire again, _immortal_ again. The pain she's known for the last few days will be gone, and we can start over with eternity before us. The way it should be, the way it should have been all along.

"Pamela," I whisper hoarsely as I feel the sun take its hold, my lips buried in her hair; knowing my words fall upon deaf ears but unable to hold them back, "_Please, _my love. _Kom tillbaka till mig_."

* * *

**A/N: Leave me here to die. I swear I won't take so long on the next chapter. I really dreaded writing this, for reasons that I'm sure are now obvious. Probably, oh, two to go to wrap this monster up :( Reviews are always appreciated, even if they're well deserved verbal abuse, after this.**

**Translations:**

**Min envisa skitunge – my stubborn brat**

**min älskade – my love**

**min prinsessa – my princess**

**min prins – my prince**

**min söta – my sweet**

**Jag är ledsen, min kära. I am sorry, my darling.**

**Sötnos – baby, darling**

**Vila bra, lilla. – Rest well, little one.**

**Kom tillbaka till mig. – Come back to me**


End file.
